Rounding Up
by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: Genevieve had been hunting with the brothers for some months. Although she hadn't considered their silly conversations to be that flirtatious, maybe Dean had. The relationship had temporarily levelled-up but the agreed upon "let's pretend this never happened" wasn't happening. She'd never thought Dean would be the one to get messy on that front... violence/fluff/rom/com/angst
1. Chapter 1

Genevieve pushed through the glass door, holding it open for Sam and Dean behind her. She approached the woman behind the counter and ignored the cold once over she received.

"Good afternoon," she smiled openly. Friendly and harmless usually got more bees.

The woman pinched a smile in return, but took the time to flick her eyes towards Sam and Dean. She lingered on Dean and leaned into the counter as she did, showing off her cleavage. Gen watch the show, non-plussed and indifferent. She reached into her charcoal suit jacket and fished out the fake ID.

"We'd like to ask a few questions about a tenant you had a few nights ago," she said flashing the badge. She heard the brothers behind her do the same. "Sorry, my name is Agent Bennet. These are Bingley and Collins. What's your name?"

"Sandy," she drawled. Gen pulled out the picture of the victim.

"Sandy, did you talk to this woman at all?" Gen asked.

"Huh, maybe," Sandy shrugged, and pouted lazily. She raised an eyebrow. Gen's eyebrow twitched in response, and she tried to take a not-too-deep breath, to not set her jaw already, before she went on.

"Do you remember how she might've been when you saw her?" she tried again, easing like some school counselor.

"I'll talk to him," she smirked, eyeballing Dean as she started to bounce her leg.

Gen's expression went dead, and thousand-mile stare landing on Sandy. "Sure sweetheart," Gen turned, "he's a very good listener. Collins? Would you?"

Dean winced at her. He'd been politely smiling at Sandy, not ignoring but not encouraging. It wasn't the task that he resented, it was Gen's willingness to hand it over. Genevieve left the foyer, and waited outside, uninterested in watching a wankfest. She glanced back a few times, noted Dean's ass sticking out, true to form, as he leaned on the counter to "interview" Sandy. Sam shifted his weight uncomfortably, flashing Gen a well-worn face of patient pain.

When they left the foyer, Genevieve began to head for the car. As Dean made up the ground behind her he grumbled "What the hell was that, Genny?" as her passed by. She wasn't keen on that pet name.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"What the hell was that?!" he asked, now turning to look at her.

"What are you talking about?" she stopped, confused and annoyed.

"She was all over me!"

"Okay," she acknowledged, still unsure of what was going on.

"Would it have killed you to throw out a 'He's with me'?!" he barked and stropped off to the driver's door.

"What? You want me to play girlfriend to get you out of a flirty interview? Since when?" Gen asked, incredulous and still confused.

"What?! No!" Dean looked at her, so annoyed and now annoyed with himself. He shook his head and brushed her off. "Whatever. Forget it… Oh, and who the hell is _Collins_?"

Gen looked at Sam and his wallpaper impression. They both got in the car and she looked out the window, frowned out the window as she became more and more sure of what Dean really meant. It would keep.

Back at the hotel, everyone slammed their car door. No one had spoken, but not for want of something to say.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" Genevieve muttered, glaring at Dean.

"Yes you can," he ground out.

She let them into her room and turned to face Dean as she threw her key on the table.

"So, one more time: what?" she demanded.

"Why did you hand me over to her like that?" he demanded, loud and fuming.

"Why wouldn't I? She wanted to flirt. You flirt!" Gen answered. She wasn't quite as flustered at Dean, but she was defensive.

"Happy to just whore me out to women are you?"

"You're frikken amazing, Winchester, you know that?" Jenny shook her head, scolding him, almost beginning to pace. "You're killing me."

"Oh really," he said pathetically, "I'm killing you."

Then Jenny turned on him, pointing. "You said it was a fling! A _fling_! Not, ooh gee," she looks at her watch, "20 hours ago you were in this room saying, and I quote, "We'll just have a fling, Gen." I said okay. "I'll walk out that door and it'll be just like it was," you said. And I said _okay_. So why are you so bent today?"

"Well, it was really good!" he exclaimed, expecting that to reveal everything.

"That's what flings are meant to be, Dean... How many not-good flings have you had?"

He's distracted momentarily, but quickly throws it off and snaps back. "I just thought that, you know, by the time we got to this morning, it was- different. "

"Why?"

"That's just what I thought, okay?" he threw his hands up and started to pace, running his hand through his hair and pulling on his neck. "I lost track of what I was doing," he said, half to himself.

Gen peered at him suspiciously. It had been good, scarily good. So good that she didn't think it could be recreated. Locking it in as a once-off almost relieved the pressure.

She'd hunted with these guys long enough to watch Dean bounced of beds and babes with abandon. His criteria was female, keen and able. Gen was happy to have some once-off fun but she knew she wasn't built for anything in between. For her it's either all or one thing.

She strode toward him, interrupting his reverie and got her finger up in his face. "I'm not interested in you shifting the goal posts on me, Winchester. I won't be stuffed around. Figure out what you want and be clear." And she walked away before their electric closeness morphed into oh damn. She wasn't sure things were 'like they had been', at all.

Going back to the fridge, she pulled out a few beers, cracked them both and put one on the neutral space of the table.

"You wouldn't want anything else?" Dean asked, not sure of how to ask for something without giving anything up.

Genevieve just peered at him and she leaned against the counter and took a sip. She didn't want to answer that yet.

"I thought you'd have an opinion about that woman tickling my ear. Did you see that?" he added. He was starting to get his swagger back.

"I got all sorts of things to say about that," Jenny leveled, "but I understood you didn't want to hear about it."

"Well, sometimes it's nice to hear someone say "He's mine"," he confessed calmly, watching to see how she'd react. He drank and waited.

They were beginning to get back to their usual easy conversation. When they had first met, Gen and Dean had played with each other on the theme of oversharing. They would challenge each other to be grossed out or aghast. If Dean asked "Why so squeamish?" Jenny would share "New brand of pads. And they suck." If she'd wondered aloud about a suspect's apparent sub kink Dean would wink out a "don't knock it till you tried it, babe". But always the other would shrug an unflinching "Huh," and keep on keeping on. Sam had learned to tolerate it.

But then, over the months, it had turned into simple honesty. They hadn't done any retrospective confessions, or told their life stories, but they knew how the other felt each day. They'd slipped into being an old couple from day one and let the other be whoever they were.

"I'm never gunna say that, you know," she said, relaxing a bit. Dean walked over to her and leaned against the counter just a little out of arm's reach, knowing she had something to add. "I'd say "He's my boyfriend" or say whatever that person is, but it's a role. I don't own them." She was trying to ignore his heavy gaze.

"I'd like someone to know that I think I'm theirs," he said, before another swig. "It's not possession. It's belonging."

"Okay," Gen said, rolling her eyes, "well, next time we get down to skins I'll be sure to leave a flag planted on your ass. See how you feel about that."

She smiled at him easily, happy to forget how much their friendship might've been ruined by the last day's actions.

"I wouldn't mind people knowing that I belonged to a woman like you," he said casually and he turned to take off his jacket and hang it over a chair. It was a pretty big flirt.

Genevieve looked uncomfortable. "Dean," she said uncertainly.

"What?" he replied, smiling to ease her into sharing.

"Why are you even interested in me?" she sighed, pleading, "I don't understand!"

"Excuse me?"

"Just," she knew she risked insulting him here, "I know women rate themselves kinda low, but I'm not like the type you usually collect. I'm awkward! I have a big nose and sometimes a double chin and I make goofy faces when I talk about stuff and I'm just... so rarely sexy."

Dean leaned on the back of a chair, content to watch her dig her own hole.

"It's not that I'm rough or anything, I know I'm not hard to look at, as such, but those women are so... _hot_. They have boobs till Tuesday and they're tall and _so _sexually assertive, and confident. I'm not that."

By now Dean had come back to his spot against the counter, and was smiling, bemused.

"Ugh," she resigned, "sorry, I just... You're a nine and I feel like such a six when I with you. Not always, just today, really."

"Well that's a load of crap," Dean said sternly, "I would never sleep with a six." He held back the _Nine, what the hell?_

Gen looked at him flatly. "Yeah, okay. You can add idiot to that list."

"You are confident," he nodded at her, "you haven't seen yourself in action. That's one of your hottest qualities."

She looked at her drink and wondered if she could drink away her stupidity.

"Let's go on a date," Dean said cheerily.

Jenny winced, pulling one of those goofy faces. "Really?" she asked, almost whining. "What kind of date?"

"A date date. You got a nice dress?"

"Ugh," she slumped, "yeah, I s'pose. Yes." Such a confession.

"What's the problem?" Dean laughed.

"It's just, I wear a dress and I've gotta do the haaair and make-uuup and it takes like niiinety minuuuutes and... it just doesn't seem to make that much difference," she shrugged, slinking against the bench. Gen never really understood why poeple got so blown away by a bride or a red carpet outfit. It was beautiful, sure, a nice dress is a nice dress but settle down folks, you can still tell who the hell it is. Same old person. Different bucket.

"I'll be back at eight," he was insisting. He turned for the door and Gen followed him as he reached for the handle.

"Okay, but seriously, Dean, I rarely do all that. It's a big deal for me and I'm not very good at it," she said, her tone moving from pleading to warning. "If I rock up, all done up to the nines, and you say "Meh, 6.5" I will clock you _so hard_…"

Dean chuckled to himself, a knowing smile spreading. He stepped back toward her, near and warm. She breathed in on the closeness, adjusting her expression to something between her feelings of hope and disbelief. "Gen, that ain't gunna happen. You're a ten without your clothes. They're what bring you down."

She almost burst at the cheesiness of it, but before she could even close her eyes he kissed her, hand on her waist to pull her close. Both of them lost moments in flashbacks to the night before – the easy fun, the jokes, and the gripping, grasping, gasping peaks. And then it was the softness of now, and how they'd gotten to the bottom of familiar smells already. They breathed each other in and tilted the kiss, tasting each other again.

She was never quite sure about him till he did it. And then he was so convincing.

Dean opened the door and paused to ask her "Do you really want things to be just like they were before?"

Gen wasn't sure what he hoping for... "Sorta doesn't matter, does it?" she figured, with just a bit of cheek. "What we had before still led to last night... sooo..."

"See you at eight," he said and left.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam watched Dean burst through the door of their motel room and head for the bathroom.

"You figure it out?" he called.

"Yeah," Dean replied, "going on a date."

Sam looked at the bathroom door from the bed, the research in his lap forgotten. "With who?"

"With Gen," came the far away answer.

Sam closed the laptop and shifted to the bottom of the bed. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, coming out of the bathroom to sort some clothes, "Why not?"

"Dude. You seriously can't imagine why not?"

Dean shrugged and frowned at his bag, not looking at Sam. He didn't feel like being talked out of this, but suddenly realised how long it was until 8pm. "We're doing dinner so you'll have to look after yourself." He grabbed some things and went back to the bathroom, closing the door for a long hot shower.

Sam looked at the floor and after a few moments shook his head. Dinner. Not a movie, or drinks, but dinner. He went back to his research and decided he didn't actually have to care about this screaming can of worms. Which it was. In his opinion, Gen was too sensible for Dean and she'd probably ask for a higher standard of boyfriend than he could be. But, of course, there's only so much anyone could ask of a hunter, and that's Gen's situation too. Maybe she didn't have mainstream expectations about whatever she could- "Nope," Sam shook his head again, "Not my monkey. Not my circus."

A long time later, Dean emerged from a steaming bathroom.

After a while Sam asked "You wearing aftershave?"

"Yup."

Damn, Sam thought, if I can't smell it from here he must be really trying. Shit.

Meanwhile, Gen had gotten to the task, going through her routine of prettying up her lot as best she could. Her brain had been running a quiet commentary of risks and insults in the back of her mind. Having finished everything neck-upwards she looked in the mirror at the full effort and suddenly noticed how nervous she was, how unsure. Her insecurities had hijacked the night already. The initial treatment would be music. She popped her phone in the dock and picked something to blow away the dorkiness. _Got to Give it up_ would surely dig up some of her mojo, whatever that looked like. She was worrying about the future when she should be replaying last night.

Sam and Dean heard the music start up. It was a bit awkward. When Dean glanced at Sam he shrugged a frown. "It's not bad," he said quietly.

Suddenly, there was a dense double bang, and a muffled _Ah Shit!... F***!_ Gen had hurt herself on the bed, apparently, and it had thumped against their shared wall. They waited for more… "I'm okay!" she called out.

Dean stared blankly at the spot the sound had come from. He pointed at Gen's room. "There is no mystery about what happened last night, is there?"

"Nope," Sam replied flatly.

Dean nodded to himself. "Okay … good to know…"

Soon enough, it was 7:30 and Dean was ready. Maroon shirt over black t-shirt, jeans and boots being all else he had short of FBI gear. He wasn't going fine dining just yet. He settled in to read something, anything, to still his nerves. Anything to keep him from trying to pinpoint where those nerves came from.

When he heard high heels hit the floor next door, he said to Sam, "She's got her shoes on, I'll see you later."

"Hey Dean," Sam said, trying to catch him.

Dean sighed, "Yeah Sam" as he grabbed his jacket. What depressingly sensible advice do you have today? he thought.

"Have fun, " Sam said and flashed a kind smile. Dean peered at him. "She's pretty awesome," Sam added, and looked back to his screen.

Dean's eyebrows bounced in surprise. "I'm not stealing your thunder here, am I?" Just a quick check.

"No! 'Course not!" Sam laughed, "I just… you know, if you're gonna date, don't waste it."

"Thanks," he nodded, "I'll keep in touch," and he left.

Gen opened her door before Dean had finished knocking. "I heard you leave your room," she explained.

Dean nodded, a soft smile forming. She was wearing her trench coat over her dress, done up and cinched at the waist. With her hair and makeup, she looked rather 50s. She was suddenly very, very pretty.

Gen locked up the room and Dean gestured down the path toward the car some yards away. He hadn't seen her walk in these heels before, or seen her walk like this. His distraction meant that when she remembered something, stopping in his path, he slammed right into the back of her, hair in his face, bumping her forwards.

"Sorry!"

"Sorry!"

"Sorry… I thought I forgot something," she said, closing her small purse, "but it's here… silver pocket knife."

"Is that a warning?" he asked.

Gen considered… "Yes!" She smiled cheerily. He smiled back and kept walking.

When they got to the car, Gen getting there first, Dean didn't open the door for her. She was relieved.

Neither of them properly registered the silence, so full of nervous chatter were their heads. Gen was remembering the feeling of him bumping into the back of her, and how he'd caught her shoulders, his breath on her neck. Last night had been all too quick, and too dark. Dean was trying to recall the smell of her perfume, another new thing, and was flashing images of how he could get close enough to catch it again.

They pulled up to a restaurant. A nice one. Gen's heart quickened at the prospect. She'd expected something nice, but not _nice_ nice. Dean paused a moment too, unsure if this joint wasn't silver service after all.

Screw it, he thought, we're doing nice.

In her moments of light panic, Dean had gotten to her door and opened it for her. She swore to herself over the romance of it; too much promise too soon. He swore to himself at the picture of her dark eyelashes flashing up at him, her slender legs swinging out together and he unconsciously held out his hand so she could stand like a lady, with her knees together. And now they were holding hands. Which she broke. So much swallowing.

With Dean's hand on the restaurant door, Gen snapped to her usual senses. "Wait! Wait, Dean," she said, taking a step back.

"What?" he asked, concerned.

"You realise, this will change everything," she checked, brows furrowing.

"Unlike the sex last night," he peered at her.

"You're opening a door for me. You'll take my jacket, and pull out my chair and order my something off the drinks menu. It's crossing a line we ain't coming back from."

"Do you not want me to do all that?" he asked, unsure of how to get it right.

Gen looked passed his shoulder and winced, thinking. She looked inside, and then sideways at him. "Do you want to? Is that how you do dates?" she asked, unsure too.

"I dunno! I don't date!" he exclaimed.

Gen slumped, and stuck her tongue out with an "ugh". Recomposing herself she ordered "Just do what you want to do, okay? You don't wanna do all the gentlemanly shit, then don't. We're not roleplaying, or anything."

"Right. No, we're just hanging out," he shrugged it off.

"Well, no," she clarified, "there's three sets of cutlery in there. It's no hangin' out." Dean shifted his weight, trying to recall how that goes. "Let's just do the grown up versions of us for a bit," Gen said, and they both nodded and yeah-sured at each other like that was a pretty good solution.

They went in, the head waiter taking Gen's coat, and were shown to their table. Where the waiter also pulled out Gen's chair and suggested a wine for starters.

They sat. They adjusted the silverware and silently noted the exits. Gen pressed her lips together a lot, blotting her lips. Dean looked beyond her a little, checking out the other customers (all at least half a generation older than them) but his eyes slipped sideways, back to her. She was doing that slow chicken nod, a slight back and forth. Yup.

"That dress," Dean broke first, "Wow."

"Thanks," Gen smiled. She thought of more to say. "It was carefully handpicked. Note the crease-resistant fabric, the sensible but complimentary length, the stretchiness and the added pockets." He had noted the stretch, and the length.

"The little black dress for hunters," he remarked, impressed.

"I don't know how you've gotten this far without one."

"I like," Dean waved his hands at his own shoulders to indicate, "this, the neck line."

Gen's dress had a deep and wide v-neck, showing off some softness but solidly keeping it all in. The anti-possession tattoo between her breasts was still well hidden. Barely an inch of fabric covered her shoulder, with a slight cap sleeve, and there were little gathered points just below the collar bones, narrow tabs pulling the fabric away from her décolletage.

"Yeah," Gen agreed, looking down at the outfit, "I've seen this style a bit before, but usually on a much squarer neckline. Something that goes with big lamb chop sleeves and shiny taffeta. Blergh circa '86. But this nice."

"Yeah."

More silence.

"Actually," she thought, pointing at Dean, "it reminds me of, um, Superman. You know, when he pulls his shirt open-"

"Oh yeah-"

"-revealing the costume."

"Yeah," Dean laughed a bit.

"SUPer Cleavage!" Gen gestured, mimicking the action. "It's a bird! It's a dame!"

He couldn't help joining in. "Saving awkward silences, one boob at a time."

Gen's laugh started with a slight raspberry, and Dean lost it for a moment.

"Oh, man," she sighed, "There's no way I can do elegant for two hours. Be a pal and tell me if I've got food on my face, yeah?"

"You do the same for me," he replied.

"No way," she smirked, "I'll need me a snack." When Dean's eyebrows went up and his face says Oh really, Gen looked around the room, chewing her smile. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded and decided that this was going to work. That this date was actually, really, going to happen.

Which meant that they couldn't pretend they were anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

"So, I noticed," Dean began after they'd ordered, "that your style changed a few months after you started with us. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah," Gen said, nodding, "I do. That was a decision."

"What happened? It wasn't like to found your groove. You just, like, completely changed."

"The way you fight and hunt when you're alone is different to when you're with others. Which is so duh, but I didn't realise how much right away. I was trying to do my thing alongside you two, but it wasn't working. I was getting in the way sometimes. Like, I was still effective, but we-" she gestured wider, "-we weren't as good as we could be. And you guys have already got you guys figured out. So I shifted. I do the edges, fill in the gaps."

"Work your advantages."

"Yeah, I can be small, and accurate and quiet. Not that you guys can't, but sometimes the job won't let you."

"Yeah…" Dean thought about it. He could recall all those times she'd come out of nowhere, slicing or shooting, even with arrows a few times. She could be stealthy, and no one seemed to expect a third wheel to the Winchesters. "What were you like alone?"

"Distant. I did as much as I could with a gun or a crossbow. Disable something with a poison tip and then go in for the kill, that sort of stuff. Lots of recon. There was a time where I worked by remote so much I had to go looking for fights just to brush up."

Dean almost choked on his beer. "Sorry. How did that work?"

"One time," she described, half embarrassed, "I was trying to get this martial arts teacher to believe what I wanted. Him and me, in a car park, jeans and jackets, and a short stick for a fake machete." Dean started to bounce his shoulders from laughing. "I couldn't tell if he was scared for me or himself," she smiled sheepishly. "I ended up pretending to be a guy by a bar, poking someone till he threw the first punch. It was pathetic."

Dean was laughing openly now. "Desperate times," he shook his head and drank again.

"I did find one guy early on," she leaned in, "a victim. He was an aspiring cage fighter and fought a vampire attack – just one on one – and he did really well, but it was dark and crowded and he couldn't get the distance. Without knowing what he was fighting I'm not sure he could've won. After I finished it he was pretty grateful and I asked him to let me fight him for practice, as a thank you."

"Really?" Dean was leaning in too now, curious and impressed. "That's pretty gutsy. I mean, with monsters you know their deal. People can be pretty crazy. And cage fighting's intense."

"Yeah, I know," she reflected on the risk, "but it was good. I picked the location, I set the rules. I gave him instructions about what to go at, my neck or whatever, and we'd keep score. It wasn't like the fighting he was used to, because I kept running. It was awesome."

Dean stared at her for a bit. This regular woman, with apparently glamorous eyes, who went a night with an amateur cage fighter. She added, to play it down, "He was really a beginner. He'd only done, like, two fights. And I'm sure he went easy. But still, after an hour I walked away with cuts and bruises and light concussion."

"You walked away."

"Exactly," she nodded and leaned back with her wine.

"Wow," he breathed, "would you do it again?"

"I did, once more, but he wanted to come with me and do the next hunt. I called it quits after a quarter hour. He got too excited, went too hard, ended up in cuffs… I couldn't figure out what to say to get him off the idea."

"Delusions of grandeur?"

"More like realising that cage fighting's kinda is safe, I think. Which is crazy… But he had family… Anyway, I drove to the next state that night. Never again."

Dean nodded. She smiled. They drank.

"Gotta say Gen," he'd wanted to say this for a while, "I love the way you fight. I mean, I still worry, coz you're small-"

"I'm five-eight!"

"-so small, but you're so neat about it. And creative. You're so focused."

"I like the flow," she said, without even thinking, "and the adrenaline is a little addictive… but thank you. You - you and Sam - you're goddam impressive. I've learned a lot from you two."

"Aw, am I blushing," he jeered.

"Tell me about your first djinn again grandpa?"

"You watch it," he pointed at her. He hadn't seen the look she threw right then, he hadn't yet seen that kind of daring mischievous glint. It made his breath hitch. But she dropped it almost instantly.

"Honestly," Gen went on, "I'm not sure I'll ever be as good as you two."

Dean considered the compliment, and how it was heavy with bitterness. Only through all their misfortune could they be this kind of experienced. "Well, it's kinda hard when you're only one."

She let it go.

And they relaxed. Completely.


	4. Chapter 4

One main meal and four drinks later, Gen and Dean were smiling at each other with their eyes. She would later recall quite distinctly her thought, right when Dean tried her chocolate mousse, that _this_ was why people went on dates: so they could watch each other. Get an eyeful of hands and forearms. And the solid dose of electric eye contact. She still kept her feet tucked under her chair though. He stretched his out at every opportunity.

It really wasn't Dean's scene, but he was glad to be there with Gen like this, just the once. She didn't care how much she didn't fit in and it carried him through.

Gen had been doing all she could to make him laugh. She hadn't heard him laugh this much, ever. It was like a balm. Back when they'd gross each other out, laughing was when you lost and they won. But now, every time he put the back of his hand as he chuckled, mouth full of food, or when he had to clap his hands coz he'd just taken a swig of beer, it was like scoring three points. And her shameless punning got him on a roll too, doing everything he could to get her to do what she called her "fugly silent laugh". They bounced off the backs of their chairs, put down their forks and held up hands in defeat. It was cheesy and fluffy and delicious and healing.

Then there was this one moment where the folks next door glanced sideways and pursed their lips, letting their annoyance at the too-loud laughter spill out from their own space. (Or possibly at the low-brow depths she had used to crack him up. Who doesn't love farts? Honestly.) He saw Gen notice, how she glanced down and pulling in her cheeks, and he was so pissed so quickly. But then, Gen said "Darling, did you pack the black or the pink handcuffs?" well loud enough for them to hear, and she'd smiled broadly with some mousse on her teeth, very close to eyeballing the old cow to his right. He grinned at her, loaded his fork with pie and locked her sight before answering "Sweetheart, the black ones. They match your panties," as seductively as he could. With a wink, of course. Gen's ears burned, almost as bright as the woman's cheeks. Their neighbour excused herself and her husband quickly saw to the check. Gen leaned in a little to say "I think she's gone to clutch her pearls."

"You think?" Dean asked, chewing his pie.

"I know I did," she muttered, but didn't dare look at him.

Gen excused herself after dessert. The couple behind her began to go, and the middle aged man caught Dean's eye, winking, and patted him on the shoulder as he passed by. Damn country people, giving him feels.

When Gen approached the table again she came upon Dean leaning on his elbows, frowning at her empty seat. She thought he was beginning to doubt, but he wasn't. He was weighing.

Next was the bit she'd been dreading: the going back. She didn't want another awkward drive, but she didn't know what she wanted next. Which wasn't completely true. She hesitated to hope.

"Wonder how Sam's doing…" Gen commented, mostly for something to say. It reminded Dean to text him that they were on their way back – _Date going well, on our way_ – trusting that was hint enough for him to find his headphones. "Probably forgot to eat. Hope he's found another job for us til the next full moon."

"Yeah," she said, and forgot that she was letting him help her jacket on. Dean had no doubts about where he wanted things to go, but wasn't sure of what Gen he wanted, or of how to find out. This wasn't like any other night with any other woman.

Somehow, though, they drew a thin, double-spaced thread of conversation out the door, into the car and along the drive back. It was a fragile chat about just stuff, neither of them able to give it their full attention. They pulled up to the motel rooms, and Dean strung it out some more and talked all the way to her door. As he leaned on the frame, and as she didn't interrupt him, they both understood what was being said.


	5. Chapter 5

Gen had let Dean do the seductive thing and untie her trench coat. His arms had come around her waist and she felt him say "That perfume…" against her neck. Every hair stood to attention, and when he slipped the coat off her shoulders, he could see it in the weak lighting.

"Do you want a drink?" Gen offered.

"No," he'd said, squeezing her waist a little, "I'll be back in a minute," and headed off to the bathroom.

With no drink to prepare, Gen was a bit lost. So she made one for herself. The cap was barely back on the bottle and there was a fast knock at the door.

"Gen, it's me," Sam announced, "You decent?"

She stared for a minute. He must have a good reason.

"I'm good, come in," she called.

"Sorry, I heard you guys come back. Is he-?" he pointed to the bathroom.

"Yeah, what's up? You want one?"

"No, thanks. I think we have a job to do tonight," he said, hands on hips.

"Okay," she said carefully, not wanting to tell him to go solo straight away. "What kind of job?"

The bathroom door opened and Dean stood frowning at Sam.

"With the werewolf thing on the backburner, I left the police scanner on. There's a guy down an ally with his throat ripped out and his girlfriend missing. That's on one side of town. Some frat boys are missing on the other. They ran their car off the road but they're gone. It's a red mess."

"Frat thing could be drugs," Dean said flatly.

"Yeah but I don't think so. The radio chat talks about windows punched in, drag marks," Sam countered, somewhat apologetic.

"You think vampires?" Gen asked.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure, but it's new and it's a lot. Might be a new nest in the area," he explained.

Dean had come closer and was watching Gen.

"Where in hell are we going to start looking?" Dean asked, still frowning.

"I think we should get to the car crash as soon as. That's most likely to give us tracks," Sam said gravely. He didn't actually want to ruin their night.

Gen looked at the ground, considering the situation. Sam and Dean both watched her, only for slightly different reasons. Her gaze wandered while she thought about how much they could get done tonight, whether it would be practical or wasted exhaustion. For a split second she realised she was now looking at the bed, Dean partially obstructing her view, a flash of the alternative evening behind her eyes. When she caught him watching her she stuttered to begin.

Gen slumped against the bench a little. "We should go while things are fresh. If they're new, the quicker we are the more vulnerable they'll be," she said, as matter-of-factly as possible, but everything about her said damn and sorry. It was all the encouragement Dean needed.

"You ready?" Dean asked Sam.

"When you are," he replied, "I'll see you next door," and left without a question.

As soon as the door closed, Dean stepped into Gen, nose to nose. He waited a quarter second to gauge her reaction and made contact. He simply moved his head forward a half inch, their lips locking, and she watched him kiss her for a full three seconds before he shifted, tasting her and closing his eyes to feel it. She answered, matching him, but stopped to ask "My room after?" and was surprised again when Dean leaned down a little to fully wrap his arm around her waist and brush her hair aside with his other hand, his palm landing on her jaw to hold her. His kiss was open and humming, smooth. He drank in her fragrance, the line of her back under his hand. He pressed her against the bench, nudged her, and she broke away to gasp and say "This isn't after."

He moaned in defeat. "Yeah. After," he repeated. She couldn't tell if he was resigned or pissed. He looked down at her chest, the framing of her dress. When he dragged his hand down her bare arm, he collected her wrist and held it up to kiss the pale inside skin. "I'm gonna kill those things so much."

"I need to get changed," Gen said softly.

"You can fight in this," he half pleaded. "Do the crossbow thing. Oh Gen," he moaned, shaking his head slowly, "please kill things in this dress. Please, I'll-"

"Leave!" she said loudly, "Leave now!" Gen pushed him backwards, turned him by the shoulders and pushed him to toward the door. With a shove and a wave, "Please, just…" she walked backwards as he stood by the door, "I'll see you after."

Minutes later, Gen knocked before letting herself into the boy's room. They were standing, ready, conversation paused. Bags were at hand, Dean was changed. She had her crossbow and her kitbag of other weaponry. If it was a nest, she wanted all her tools.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

Dean clapped his hands saying "Alright, let's go!" not a little bit bitter.

"Don't be pissed," Gen warned.

"I'm not!"

"This is what we're doing tonight," she added as they all headed out the door.

"I know. This is what we should do tonight."

"Right," she glanced at him as she headed out after Sam.

"Just not the kind of screwed I was looking forward to," he said sourly.

Gen stopped short in the doorway and looked at him. "Is all I'm sayin'" he said, arms open. She turned and headed for the car before her brain had a chance to derail.

With everyone in and key almost turned Sam muttered "Just so you know, I'm not planning on getting screwed at all."

Awkward pause.

"Yeah, we can tell," said Gen.


	6. Chapter 6

Half a mile beyond the edge of town, they drove past the crash site on their left and turned down the first road they saw, slowly cruising parallel to the flashing police lights. In the darkness, Sam reckoned the authorities wouldn't get very far with their tracking, but it depended on the experience of their trackers and of the vampires.

Parking the car well away, but with a line of sight, they quietly headed toward the end of a scattered trail of police officers and kept their distance. Deep in the pine woods, the three of them looked for the end of the yellow tape path. With such large spaces between the tall trees, there wasn't going to be much an inexperienced tracker could follow in the midnight.

None of them could hear more than a murmur from the cops but they could catch the accent of rallying fear. For people unlikely to think outside the box, this box was bloody and mysterious. They couldn't have timed things much better: after spying as much as they could, the officers were gathered and the hunters heard them declare the crime scene closed until daylight. A search party would soon be in the area to sweep in the direction of the path. During the distant hubbub following, while the police reorganised themselves, Gen and Dean held their spot and Sam headed toward the end of the tape. Crouched and careful, he followed the trail beyond the marked path for a few yards, and then to the left, toward the township, and disappeared from view. Dean stopped watching the police to stare at Sam's last shadow, scanning for movement, listening for any noise from that direction. Just as he was about to whisper a curse in Sam's name, he saw the swinging headlights of a departing car shine against his head.

By the time Sam got back to them he was motioning to head for the Impala. They were quiet when they closed the doors.

"Start the car, Dean," Sam said, looking at the area they'd come from.

"Where are we going?" he asked, gunning the engine.

"Not too loud, just get us out of here under the noise of the cops," he explained, "There're some houses down there and if there're vamps, they might spot your engine, or our voices. We don't have to go back to the motel, I just didn't think we should stay here and talk." They caught up to the procession as the last few police cars turned out and followed them back into town.

"Is there a street?" Gen asked, "Like, the burbs? Or just a few country houses?"

"It's the edge of the suburb, sealed road and big blocks. Old houses." Sam described what he could recall in the dark. "One street light."

"We should park up the end see how far we can get in the dark. The wind is in the right direction to approach from that side," she suggested.

Neither of them disagreed, so Dean followed his nose to the area and pulled over once Sam had confirmed their location with this phone.

Creeping from hedge to bush, from abandoned car to dumped hard rubbish, they worked their way down the road. They passed three or four homes and the street light before the buildings got really sparse, the last five houses facing nothing but once-cut forest. They tripped over debris from old trees, half-demolished garages and all sorts of random "just in case" horded crap. Even a chicken shed full of rusted play equipment.

The last two houses were dark, but the very last house was quiet and seemed empty. The second last house was wooden and decrepit, one storey plus a basement, a porch out the front and a few steps from the back door. The front yard had a car so old there was grass on the back dash. Everything in the backyard was sepsis hazard.

They hung back, by a sagging wooden fence, to listen to whatever they could catch. Almost instantly, a light in the basement shone through the shrunken slats and a crowd of boys' voices quaked. They pleaded, negotiated, but didn't get to finish their sentences before some choked grunts of wrestling, some yelling for a friend, and then the screams of No! _No!_ overwhelmed them. Then it was darkness and whimpering.

On the main level on the house, the sounds of a casual party grew stronger, and one room's lights flicked off as everyone came together. Gen, crouching between the brothers, whispered closely in Sam's ear "Do you think you can count them from behind that tall bush."

Sam looked at the shrub she pointed at, over his shoulder and scuttled over to use it for cover. When he stood, the light barely caught his face, but he could see inside and stood still, for quite a while, to watch the nest of vampires drain the blood from a sobbing teenager splayed atop a coffee table. Dean and Gen could imagine the scene, thanks to the close and graphic soundtrack, not to mention the twitching steel of Sam's expression. It was over quickly. Sam waited. From his vantage he had counted six vampires, but knew there were more… Watching the conversation between them, he estimated another four in the room: Ten who did the killing in the living room.

Gen and Dean came over to him, and tapped his arm to pull back. They made their way back to the front of the neighbouring house, then moved one over again, stopping in front of a home blaring a loud game show.

"There was talk about two others," Gen whispered, "who were absent. I think they're guarding the basement." Dean glanced at her, a little envious he hadn't picked that up.

"Then that makes twelve. That's a lot, even for three people…" Sam thought aloud.

"They're knocking them off though," Dean argued, "we can't take our time."

"Some of them seem pretty young," Sam added, "They had those crazy eyes the new ones get."

"Yeah, they'll go through those boys by lunchtime," Dean muttered, rubbing his neck in aggravation.

"Sam, do you think the trail you saw will lead the search party to the house?" Gen asked, wondering how soon the regular folk could end up involved.

"Hard to say," he frowned, "I think they'll doorknock anyway. And the vamps will see and hear anyone coming pretty easily. Enough to clear out in time, or prepare themselves."

"What would you do," Dean asked Gen, "if you were alone?"

She snorted quietly. "I'd get help! More than you two stagehands." The boys smiled a little in response. "But, probably… I'd wait till morning, wait till it was just the two guards, take them out, evacuate the victims, close up everything but the entrance and flush them out. Get them as they escape."

"Flush them out with what?" Dean asked.

"Bombs, grenades," she shrugged.

"Bombs?!" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Have you done that before?" Dean was stunned.

"Yeah, once or twice," Gen admitted, "I'm no explosives expert, but I've rigged up a booby trap or two. This should be by remote trigger though. Maybe a flashbomb. "

"You'd just… blow up the whole house."

"No no, that's too big. We just want to make them run, but yeah, I'd burn it in the end," Gen nodded grimly. "Take off… nuke the site from orbit."

Dean's face broke a slow grin. "…Only way to be sure," he said slapping her on the back. She shrugged an apology at Sam, but here was no need.

"But those boys…" she said, "I'm sure they'll take another before dawn. And even if we were to rig it up like I said, they'd probably be bringing back live victims, right into the storm. Do you think the three of us can stealth our way in and do something now?"

The brothers looked at each other. They were well outnumbered, even if they got the guards down. Three against twelve was rough, but the numbers could change so easily… it was riskier than usual. Both of them got around to weighing up one life against the likelihood of their survival and the lives they'd save in the future.

"Let's decide at the car," Dean murmured and nodded them all down the road.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean got to the car first and opened the trunk. "There's no one close enough to help us in the next six hours," he said, collecting some weapons. "Do you have any of that stuff in your bag?" he asked Gen.

"I have three grenades and one flashbomb,"' she said, "but no equipment to protect us from it."

"That's okay, I've got a good arm," he replied.

"If you say so," Gen pulled her bag from the backseat, "there's only one though."

"Why do you even have a it?!" Sam asked, "That's crazy!"

"Yeah, it's a desperate measure," she agreed, "but I figure the brightness might do more damage on top of the explosion. The only time I've used one was in a brick building, and I was pretty well protected. I don't know how it will go in an old wooden house."

The brothers collected everything they usually used for vamps from the trunk – namely machetes and dead-man's blood. Gen had a double-edged blade in a holder down her thigh. It was a short sword essentially, which was heavier but she liked it. She'd carry her small crossbow, and restock dead-man's blood poisoned arrows from her other thigh's pocket. The grenades would be left behind.

"I'm actually pretty hesitant to use it today," Gen shared again, meaning the bomb.

"We're taking it," Dean said flatly.

"Everything we use can be used against us," she warned.

"I'll keep it secure," he said, a statement rather than a reassurance. Somehow, Gen felt, this thing had officially become his. She handed it over.

"Fine. So what's your plan?" she said.

"I'm hoping there's a cellar door to the hostages, but if not we are going to wait till they leave, and do what you said."

"No, Dean," Gen held up her hands, "the more I think about it the riskier it gets."

"They won't be bringing back victims in broad daylight-" he began to defend.

"Then why would they even leave in daylight! You're talking about waiting till dusk! They will use those guys for the day and play house if the search party comes through."

"Then that's when we should jump," he interrupted.

"Wait," Sam joined in, "you want to start a raid with a regular citizen at the front door and a search party behind them? What is up with you?"

"They will kill those boys," Dean growled, pointing angrily at the house, "kill any door knocker and leave town. We are doing this _now_. We will go in from the back, sweep through and take them out quietly, one by one. But, you know," he conceded a little, "it may not play out that way."

"Yeah, coz vampires always arrange themselves so that everyone watches the front door," Sam lay down the sarcasm thickly. Gen didn't want to shit all over Dean's plans, but knew she would never go ahead with this much risk. She wasn't the kamikaze type. But if they didn't go now, they'd be handing over a lot…

Dean watched Sam and Gen think. He was antsy. "Do. You. Have. A better. Idea?" he said, for the umpteenth time in his lives.

Sam stopped his pacing and fixed Dean with a glare. "That cannot be your defence for every half-assed plan."

Dean broke away and walked down the other side of the car to glower.

Gen remembered she'd packed some food in her smaller bag – she kept a post-hunt kit with snacks and a first aid kit. For snack and cracks, munchies and crunchies, she said. She fished it out and shared the food – a snickers and a banana each.

"Oh, for the love of mothers," Dean moaned. He grabbed Gen's head in both hands, sideways, and kissed her hair. They each cracked something and took a few bites.

"My vote," Gen muffled, "is to keep that bomb out of sight. It's a last resort. We cannot be even in the next room. Hostages have to be out of the house… But we do it your way, stay close together, and fight from back to front. The whole house is going to creak and give us away, even with a cellar door. The hostages might be the last part… It's going to be a fight."

Sam and Dean nodded while they chewed, and nodded at each other.

"Okay?" Sam asked.

"More food first," Dean answered, ripping open the banana. It was 4am and Dean nodded towards the distant woods, where Sam had skulked hours earlier. They watched festive row of flashlights slowly bounced down the hill.

"They won't visit till after dawn," he speculated, "probably calling it a messy, drunken escape. I don't think they're worried enough to wake folks."

"Let's hope," Sam muttered.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** I haven't written an action scene before. Apologies in advance for any clunkiness.

* * *

><p>Dean headed back down the road, leading Sam and Gen along the path they'd gone before and down the fence to where it stopped, unconnected to anything, the blocks backing onto pine forest. Between shed and shrub, they skulked up the overgrown and trip-laden back path, slowing as they approached the back of the building. They could see the exposed lightbulb, doing its best, through the kitchen and backdoor windows.<p>

Turned out there was cellar door, and Dean pulled out his torch to have a quick close look. Upon finding the rusted-on padlock, Sam and Gen watched him shake his head, flick off the light and point to the back steps. There was no porch or landing; the door was atop the third booby-trap-rickety step and it was a pain in the ass. No rails, no cover.

Dean slowly shifted his weight onto the top step and looked through the door's window, waiting to see any movement through the old curtain. He wrapped his fingers around the doorhandle and glanced back in the partial light to check Sam and Gen were ready. They were waiting for him.

Dean gave a stony nod and turned the handle. Mercifully, it was quiet. He decided to duck down as he eased the door open, finding a rusty fridge immediately beside him. He could see the edge of tables and chairs in the kitchen, and if he'd opened the door completely he'd be looking down a corridor, the living room on its right. But, halfway open, the door creaked, just a little, and he froze.

A chair shifted. The hunters paused.

"Simon?" someone whispered, "that you?"

The voice stood and walked around the table, Dean rising to meet it. The young vampire breathed in, surprised, preparing to yell, but Dean raised his arm and swung, slicing off her head as he grabbed her jacket. They all winced at the special thudding sound of a falling skull, and Dean eased her body onto the floor.

They paused. No sound. No talking. Nothing. What the luck.

Dean pointed to the hallway and Gen and Sam made their way in around the door. They crept slowly, taking their time. Sam turned a little, pointed to the door on the other side of the kitchen, and mouthed "Basement" very, very clearly. Dean frowned at him, wincing. "Okay," he said silently, "good work." The flipped both thumbs. Sam flipped a finger.

He led them down the corridor, and began to inch as they approached the living room. When Sam got close enough, he could see a vampire sleeping in an armchair just inside the door, wall behind him, legs splayed out under the coffee table. He recognised this one from the killing earlier, and noticed the occasional bloodstained tissue. Sam slowly leaned forward, widening his view. Another slept in a second armchair, two more on the couch under the window, and one lying on the couch against the other wall. He quietly slipped to the other side of the doorway and, ignoring the messy red ring around the table, spied one more in another chair. Half the nest.

Sam indicated "six" with his fingers and Gen pointed further down the corridor, to another room on opposite side. Beyond that was the front door, its window now mid-grey with predawn light. She made her way to the open doorway, crouched down to waist height and took a quick glance. She held up three fingers. She wished so hard to know if the door would creak, imagining just locking the room and let them wait till last.

As Gen made her way back to the living room, Sam began to creep in. There was at least half a yard between the table and the chairs, and he figured getting in there was as good a chance as any. He worked his way to the right, grip ready, expecting them to smell human intruders. Dean was sure they'd hear his heart as he carefully lifted and lowered his feet over the first set of legs. With her sword in her right hand and pistol crossbow in the left, Gen just hoped they were all too new to know how to fight.

Dean crept into the most crowded corner, in front of the two on the couch and beside the second in an armchair, while Gen settled herself at the doorway with a snoozing vampire inches away, close enough for him to grab her throat if he chose. She had a quick think about what it would take to wake the sleepers next door.

They looked over their shoulders, checked each other for readiness and raised their blades. Then all eyes snapped to Gen's target, shifting sleepily in his seat, and as the brothers saw her swing from the waist, they turned to their own victims, machetes falling in unison, wet crunches repeating. The head of Dean's victim rolled down his lap, waking the girl sleeping on his knee. She opened her eyes to a face on the ground, all by itself, and began to wail. Dean's arm came up and down again, chopping through the neck and into the thigh.

The vampire in the corner, between Gen and Dean woke, snarling and leaping, not a fleck of confusion. As it grasped Dean's jacket, Gen shot for the chest and it yelped, falling down in agony, desperately pinching at the poisonous bolt. Dean swung again, having to reach across his own body in the tight space, and sliced through the front half of the vampire's neck. It leaned back and gorged blood, red spilling onto lap and floor, before Dean grabbed its hair and pulled it forward for a final cut.

Sam, meanwhile had struggled with the last lunging vampire: She had pulled herself away, back down the couch, and then popped at him like a baboon, straight for the neck. Although Sam had gotten his blade through her body, she hadn't paused much, and pulled him toward her mouth by his arm and hair. Back when Dean was slicing, Gen had dropped her crossbow, clambered over some limbs and stabbed her short sword through the vampire's throat. Its hold on Sam weakened, and Gen said "Hold the head." As soon as he had a good grip, grabbed the sword with both hands and yanked through the spine. A gentle drag along what was left was all it took for gravity to let the body free.

Sam and Gen hadn't noticed the footsteps from the bedroom, but Dean had already met them in the hallway, protecting his friends as they'd finished. His jeans were splattered below the knee, boots shiny and wet. A warping scream galvanised them all. Sam and Gen moved in behind Dean as he filled doorway and faced off a half-crumpled woman, two boys behind her. "My babies!" she sobbed, elbows in her gut, hands clawing upward. "Ugh!" she sobbed. Dean smirked at the melodrama. She straightened in rage and laid a watery, shaking glare on him. "I'll kill you!" she shrieked, "I'll leave you half-turned in a hole, you bastard!"

"Been there, bitch." In the cramped space of the corridor Dean swung at the woman, missing as she ducked and slammed him into the ground, both of them sliding inches in the dust, toward the kitchen. With his weapon knocked aside and the vampire enraged, he defended himself against punches, clawing scratches and attempted bites, managing to get in a few hits of his own.

Gen eyed off the vampire in front of her, edging him back into his friend. Sam closed in behind, not wanting to leave her outnumbered. They were young vampires and had been young men, itchy for action and revelling in their new violence. Both panted with anticipation.

As Dean wrestled behind them, the first lunged straight for Gen. She stuck her short sword through his shoulder, pushing him to the left and against the wall, giving Sam clear access to the third. He came down on the boy but, almost upon contact, the fight became a whirlwind, his partner taking on a crazed-cat style. They careened toward the front door, a mess of snarls and grunts.

Gen took a blow to the head, reeling down and backward, and landed on her knee. She swung at the leg, chopping deeply, and found herself level with him when he fell. She pulled her weapon in close, meaning to drive it upward between them, but he knocked that right arm away. She managed a left to the eye, but he grabbed her arm, turned her and pulled her back into his chest. His other hand came in front, grabbed her throat and hauled her into his lap. He opened his mouth wide, hovering to chomp into her neck-

"Hello!"

Everyone froze. Dean was under the female, holding her wrists above him, and Sam was tangled in teen psycho monster.

"Hello?" said the shadow at the front door. "Search and rescue doorknock?" They were up early.

Gen's captor scrambled backwards, resting against the wall. She had begun to wrench herself free but he grabbed her head, hand over mouth, and pinned her head against the wall over his shoulder. He pulled his lips back to show rows of pointed teeth, eyeballing Sam with intent. "No one here!" he yelled, words fat around the fangs. "Shorry!" He grinned agape at Sam, saliva pooling.

"Umm," the shadow was going to try again. Dean took the opportunity to move and wrapped his leg around the top of his vampire, thudding her to the ground and sitting up to pin her. In the quick scramble to dominate, he'd found his own blade and got the attention of the one holding a wriggling Gen. Dean pressed the sharp edge against his victim's throat in a direct challenge.

Gen's captor got the message and became serious.

"We're looking for a few boys," the hapless citizen explained. "They mighta been injured in a car accident. You haven't seen anyone about?"

"Nah, we're good," Sam announced, between puffs. "Like, we're only awake coz you knocked."

"Okeydokey," came the reply, "Well, just call us if you see anything." A flyer slipped under the door. All eyes were on Dean as they listened to the footsteps going down the porch, then fading down the road.


	9. Chapter 9

"You should back off there man," Dean warned.

"You even scratch her-" Gen's captor began, but she snatched her arm back, piercing an arrow through the eye and got an earful of screaming vamp. She pushed backward, heels in the ground, while wrenching away the grip on her chin.

Dean pushed down, cutting through the female vampire's neck, and Sam's opponent went full banshee. As Gen twisted, scrambling out from under the arms, away from the wet screams of pain, Dean got himself between them and pinned the vampires head in place with the short arrow. He shifted his position to the side, giving Gen a clear strike at the neck and the noise stopped.

Both of them, now kneeling and panting, turned to Sam's fight. The slapping, grunting, grabbing, writhing mess was awkward to watch. Sam kept the heel of his hand against the vampire's chin as they pulled and rolled into the corners of the hallway. Gen was closer but couldn't figure out how to help, how to get in there. At the least, she held Sam's weapon for him, by the blunt edge, handle outward and ready for him.

Dean tried to approach, dodging slightly to find an angle. At one point, Sam worked himself away a little, legs finally getting some distance from the long, springy guy. Dean took the opportunity, grabbed the vamp's ankles and yanked him down, free of Sam, and knelt on his knees. Sam scrambled for his blade. The boy sat up, swearing and grabbing, and Dean punched him squarely in the head. By the time he'd landed on his back, Sam was there, ready, and killed him.

Sam's chest heaved as he slumped against the wall. Seconds passed. "You know… we only just met," he said, pulling a sad face. They breathlessly puffed out some laughter. Sam had some shiny spots, but seemed to have come away with only scratches. Dean had a bloodied lip and eyebrow. "Where are the last two?" Sam asked breathlessly. Their absence was making him nervous for the hostages.

"Guarding," Gen decided. "They'll be waiting for us."

They moved quietly and collected their things, Gen finding her crossbow and reloading as they headed down back down the corridor to the kitchen and the basement door. They brothers arranged themselves in front and back of Gen. As Dean slowed to listen for noises below, they heard a scuffle behind them, from down the corridor, and fast footsteps approaching. They braced for a barrelling attacker, but instead watched a whimpering girl, pale, horrified and messy, run out the back door, a blond blur. Sam muttered "Shit," and four steps later he was out of the house and after her.

"Dammit!" Dean half whispered.

"She might be bit," Gen answered, "Go on, we can only use two of us down a stairwell anyway. Go."

"Woman, I know," Dean scowled. "And I'm the one who says go."

"Say go," she told him.

He almost rolled an eye, but as he reached for the handle, Gen muttered "And don't woman me, you douche."

They found the basement light on and began the descent into a box of dampness, sweat, piss and fear. As they snuck down, the shuddering breath of frightened people echoed up, feet shifted and Dean turned at the base of the stairs to find three young men, all strung up against support beams, and two vampires, each holding knife to a throat.

"Well, this is quite the welcome," Dean announced.

"Stop there," one vampire said. He was older. Or, at least, was older before he was turned. The other vampire was pale and rattled. Gen stood beside Dean and had a good look at their state. It seemed they'd picked this plan and waited and the young guy, listening to the battle above, looked close to losing his nerve.

"Is there anyone left?" the older one asked.

Dean paused for a moment. "No," he said, "there was no one left to defend them." The hunters decided, rightly, that one was more experienced than the other.

The vampire twitched. He adjusted his grip and then, staring at Dean, slowly pushed the tip of his hunting knife into his victim's chin. The boy whimpered, unable to move or scream, and tears rolled down his cheeks. His friends shook and shifted, one of them turning away to sob. The younger vampire stared and leaned at the sight of good blood going to waste.

"Careful," Gen warned, "tongue's bleed a lot. You'll need him."

"I have two more," the vampire sneered, but he pulled back all the same.

"You have a newbie who's navigating by bloodlust," she replied, "and no help to get more."

The older one clenched his jaw over and over, his gaze shifting between the intruders. "If you don't leave," he ground out, "I'll kill them all, after I kill you."

Neither hunter reacted, waiting to see if he really had a plan.

"Paul?" the younger vampire looked at the older, pathetically, "Do you-"

"No, not you Aaron."

"Okay."

Dean took a second to push aside his pity, his seething, grinding hatred for what these monsters do to people. "I'm not sure why you're negotiating," he said, "because you may think you have leverage, but the bottom line is that you're not going to survive this. You're assuming we care if these boys survive."

"Well, I care," Gen corrected. "You don't."

Aaron looked at Dean, suddenly irate with confusion. "You don't care?!"

"Aaron! Shut up!" the older one barked.

"Nope," Dean said calmly, "it's just… I like the killing."

"It's a pain in the ass," Gen interjected. Dean and Aaron glanced at her. "Well, it's always messier than it should be," she explained quietly.

"You're an asshole," Aaron sneered.

"_I'm_ the asshole?" Dean repeated. "Wow, I got told."

There was a beat while the older vampire tried to reharness the situation, but he was too slow with his words.

"You know, you two look really similar," Dean said, pointing his weapon at the Aaron and his assigned trading card. "I think, if I can remember 'don't slay the grey'," he nodded at the hostage's grey sweater, "you'll be alright."

And then the old guy cracked it. Paul came at Gen, wordlessly and almost as Dean still spoke; she shot her crossbow but it slipped past him. Aaron reacted to his cue almost instantly and ran at Dean. But Dean misjudged, going right to get between Gen and her attacker, and Aaron blindsided him. He was young, not useless.


	10. Chapter 10

Gen had dropped her crossbow and jumped sideways, drawing the fight into a bit of space. She ignored Dean and Aaron already sprawled on the ground, punching and grunting. She and Paul danced and shuffled a little, one trying to stab and the other trying to disarm. Two bouts of contact and Paul had taken three slices to the torso, but he managed to grab her wrist and wrench the blade from her hand, almost breaking her arm. An elbow to her head, Gen came down on his leg, and they went on fighting, scuffling in the dust, both of them working hard. Gen used all the strength and focus she could muster, but Paul made the most of his unnatural power. In close contact, she was disadvantaged at every turn. They didn't notice Sam break the old lock from the cellar doors, or when he ran passed the hostages and yanked Aaron off Dean, being the closest fight to hand. Aaron barely had a chance to plead, but was going to, before he was killed.

That, Paul did see, and he quickly changed the fight. He scrambled around Gen, wrapping his left hand over her eyes and pinned her head to his shoulder. As he stood to renegotiate, Gen practically dangled from the hold. She was puffing and grunted at the pressure on her bones.

"Back off!" he yelled. A crisp dawn light now filled the room, dewy air flowing in and cooling their feet. The rankness was rolled away and the bound victims puffed in desperate hope. Paul grabbed Gen's right wrist and twisted it to straighten her arm, pushing her shoulder forward and presenting the side of her neck. She managed to hum her moan rather than cry out. "You won't kill me before I bite her," he warned, letting his pointed teeth slip down passed his lips.

"We can cure her," said Sam, "just like we'll cure the girl upstairs."

"What if I rip out her neck? Can you cure that?" he asked. "I don't mind taking her down with me."

Once again, Gen wriggled and strained to disguise the action of getting a bolt from her pants pocket. Sam and Dean held Paul's glare, pretending to think twice. Another twisting wriggle and she slammed the poison into his upper thigh. He called out, but didn't let go. She bashed down on it again, hitting the bone with the tip, and his grip weakened. She pushed her foot into his knee for leverage, folding herself forward, all her strength going into her forehead. Even as he held her arm, she slipped down, crying out against the pain in her shoulder. With Gen down and clear, Dean came at him, a double handed swing ready, and scooped his blade up, beheading the snarling vampire as he now gripped the arrow in his thigh.

The heavy head glanced of Gen's back and her arm was released. She made an aching noise of relief as she fell onto her side. Dean crouched down beside her, his hand on hers as it gripped her shoulder. He looked at her, and didn't ask if she was okay.

"Are you bit?" she snapped at him.

"No," he said quickly, "You?"

"No," she breathed. "I'm… I'm going to lay here for a while."

"Okay," Dean nodded. His instinct was to say "I'll be back in a minute", but he couldn't remember what he would usually say…

Sam was untying the hostages. He gave the injured one something to hold against his wound, and his friends wrapped their arms around his shoulders. "The girl upstairs, Emily," Sam began. "She was bitten by the screamer. There's a syringe in the car."

"You wanna park it out front?" Dean asked, fishing out the keys.

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied and caught them before running up to tell Emily what was going on.

The young boys put their injured friend in a chair and stood by him. Everyone rested for a bit. Gen rolled onto her knees and sat up. Testing her arm, she found it was very sore, but not changed. Dean didn't need to give her advice. As she held onto her jacket lapel with her injured arm, she used the other to help get herself to standing. Dean collected her short sword and wiped it against his jeans before slipping it into its holder. He found her other weapon and handed it over. She smiled, noticed her concussion and swallowed as her injuries made a roll call. Dean looked at her and realised that he couldn't recall what he usually did because he'd been letting Sam do it. These last months, he'd tended to Gen for little things – quick plasters and silly shit that he could joke over. When he'd worried, he'd hung back and now he really didn't want to.

Gen looked at the boys in the basement, cowering from their memories. Dean stood almost beside her, his back to them.

"We should drop them at the hospital," she said.

He held her wrist in his for a moment, running his thumb over its back. "No, we'll take Emily with us to do the cure, and call the authorities to the house."

"Yeah, ok," she shrugged, "That's a fair compromise." She began to walk toward a spare chair, but changed direction. "Ugh, I should probably go up and sit with Emily."

"I'll go," Dean offered, "I'm less bloody than you."

"Yes. Good," Gen sighed. "Really? I'm that bad?"

"Like an amateur cage fighter."

"Oh, you're such a bitch," she said, sitting down.

In the half hour that followed, Sam brought the car down to the house. The victims got some water and what was left of Gen's snacks, Emily was talked into going back to their motel, Sam collected some dead vampire's blood and Gen waited until the very last minute before getting out of her chair.

They'd told the boys to stay where they were and just wait. Maybe sit outside by the cellar door if they really had to leave. By the car, Sam called the authorities and suggested they check the last two houses again regarding the search and rescue. On the way back, Sam with Emily in the back and Gen slumped beside Dean, they did some cursory recapping.

"Damn," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "That was pretty easy."

Gen lifted her head up and put all her energy into a scowl at him. It was hard, with her bruised throat, swollen eye and cut eyebrow.

"For twelve vampires?!" he defended, "That was goddamn easy."

"Yeah, I know it was," she said and dropped her head. "God we were lucky. They were sleeping… they were fucking _sleeping_." Gen flopped her hands to emphasis the point. She closed her eyes and patted Dean's thigh before rolling away a little, missing him trying to catch her hand.

"Why the last two houses?" Dean asked.

"I had a quick look, just in case," Sam answered. "They'd dumped a body."

"Jeez, you're lucky there's wasn't more than a body, Sam," Gen grumbled.

"I didn't go in," he clarified, "just looked through the window."

"Okay," she conceded. "They must've been so young, all of them. So reckless... We have no food."

Gen began to remove last night's bobby pins from her hair and soon enough they were back at the hotel. Sam shepherded the rattled Emily into their room, talking and keeping her calm. Gen got out of the car as casually as she could, while Dean was collecting things from the trunk.

"You should go have a shower," Dean said. "We can do this without you."

"Sam can't be much better than me," she answered.

"Yeah, but he's good with Emily," he replied. "Seriously, Gen."

"I'll get some ice on me and have a sleep first I think," she said, pulling the last elastic from her hair. He wanted to do the ice, do the plasters. She wanted him to, too. She'd been daydreaming of a hot shower with company...

"Why didn't you undo that last night?" Dean wondered.

"It was really secure," she shrugged, "and hard to grab."

She'd plaited and pinned her shoulder length hair just twelve hours ago, and except for the coating of dust, it looked fabulously full and bouncy. "My goddam luck," she muttered, eyeing off a pretty lock beside her face. Dean tucked it behind her ear and looked at her punch-smeared mascara.

"Come find me when you wake up?" he asked.

Gen watched his face for a moment, but was too tired to think. "You too?"

"Deal." He smiled a little, leaned down and kissed her gently so that neither of them bled again.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam and Dean had set to curing Emily as soon as possible. Putting it all together hadn't taken long but once the formula took hold and she was back to fully human, the exhaustion was overwhelming. She was distraught, shaking, crying for all sorts of reasons. Sam held her hand, once he could catch it, and talked her down patiently. They gave her whatever food she'd take and insisted she have the bed by the bathroom. She fell asleep so quickly and deeply that they checked her pulse. Dean stayed up for a bit, doing the easy watch, while Sam cleaned up. They tagged for the shower and Sam crawled onto his bed as Dean headed out the door.

He didn't knock on Gen's door, expecting she'd be asleep. And she was, on her back under three small bags of melted ice – one each on her shoulder, her ribs and half her face. Dean eased them off and had a good look at her injuries. Lots of new colour, not too many new shapes.

He slipped onto the bed next to her, leaving some space between them, and looked her over again. She was a romantic mess; beautiful, vulnerable, beaten, bruised and victorious. He watched her snore as he dozed off.

Late morning, Gen woke from sheer thirst. She drank from the bathroom tap and washed her face a little, dragging the length of her fingers under her eyes. Then she leaned for a moment to decide… Dean appeared in the doorway.

"Which do I look more: tired, hungry or grubby?"

"Grubby," he admitted, "but you should eat before you start to shake."

"Yes," she nodded heavily, noticing he'd collected that little fact about her. "Do they have a minibar?"

"Nope, I'll call for pizza or something."

"Or something please."

Dean found a folder of order-in joints, and ordered stacks of meat and cheese. "Twenty minutes," he announced.

"Okay," she said, downing some left-over juice. "I'll shower."

Dean watched her head for the bathroom, literally tracked her across the room, and she made no eye contact, no invitation and he didn't waggle a thing about her going off to get hot and wet. He felt panic heavy in the back of his chest.

Gen took her time, up until she heard the food delivered. When she emerged, the burgers were there but Dean was gone. She unwrapped one and snarfed a few bites before getting herself quickly dressed. Dean came back in, knocking this time, as she sat with their lunch.

"How goes it?" she asked, apparently occupied by food.

"Emily's still sleeping," he said, and sat opposite her to finish his meal. They ate in silence.

So this was good. Normal. What people normally do when they live and work together.

Maybe the moment had passed. Maybe that itch has had its scratch. Whatever. They're grown adults. They can be friendly.

Gen glanced at Dean. "We should go back to the bunker," she said around some lettuce, "save the money while the job is sleeping."

He glanced at her too. "Yeah," he nodded, grabbing his drink, "Sam will be up for that."

And it's nice to be comfortable with each other. Messy eating and no need for chit-chat. Thank God.

Gen finished her meal quick enough to ache from it. She skulled her drink and stood to clear her rubbish. "We should probably get going then, figure out Emily and stuff."

"Yep," Dean agreed. He hadn't actually finished, but took what was left in one hand, his drink in the other. "I'll wake Sam, start packing."

So much easier just being buddies.

Later Gen offered to be an alibi to Emily – something like meeting a fraught, mute woman on the road, gave her a place to crash – and shared her cell number. It seemed as solid a cover as any for the messiest story of her life. They hugged and waved her off, but Gen didn't hear from Emily again.

The drive back to the bunker took till after dinner. Gen spent most of it squinting out the window, pretending she wasn't imagining Dean squinting down the road. He was remembering, not imagining, things about her, things of her he'd seen in the dark. Sam was remembering too: "Not my monkeys…"

When they got home, no one joked. Or talked. Dean didn't get any drinks, Gen didn't offer to make food, Sam didn't ask for others' laundry to go in with his load. Everyone just nodded at each other and said goodnight. It was nine o'clock. By the time Gen got to her room she was muttering in frustration. What the fuck kind of shit was this. Nothing's the way it was, it's not comfortable, it's barely even functional. She'd decided: Either something happens or I'm off.

Dean was in his own space, mostly frowning, and even though his heart raced, he was taking his time to put his things away, doing it all before he set in for the night. Not normal. Sam came across him in the halls. Not really the person he wanted to run into.

"So, what's going on?" he asked lightly.

"Nothin'," Dean said, snapping into casual mode, "just cleaning up."

"I mean with Gen."

"Oh, nothing," he shirked, "It was just, you know, friends with benefits."

"How was the date?" Sam asked, hands on hips. "She looked hot."

"Y'heah," he began to grin but shook it off. "It went fine," he hadn't planned an answer for this. "We talked about work, mostly. She told me some of her stories…" No, no gushy sharing, you're not a fucking fourteen year old.

"So, no buzz? No sparks?" he asked, surprised, "Just… friends."

Dean looked at him, realising he had to decide. Right now… He licked his lips and settling into the words. "Yup, just friends."

Sam watched him a little. Watched him struggle to hold his expression. And began awkwardly "So… you wouldn't mind if…" He gestured towards Gen's room. "If I… you know."

"What?" Dean asked, suspiciously.

"You know… If I asked Gen…?"

"Are you serious?" Dean was almost disgusted.

"Not right away, of course!" Sam defended, "It's just, I didn't realise that she could… I mean, I've never seen her..." he struggled for the words, and almost let his hands suggest too much. "And really, I think she's more my type-"

"I swear to at least four Gods, Sam," Dean spat the words, getting too close, his finger up in Sam's face, "you even look sideways at her-"

"Yeah, nothing my ass," Sam said flatly. He shook his head a little and walked away.

Dean stared at the space a moment. "You're a complete douche canoe, you know that?"

Sam's voice echoed down the corridors. "Go and figure it out, you dumbass!"

That's what I was trying to do, asshole, Dean grumbled in his mind. I was trying to make it easy and quiet. Just coz shit is there doesn't mean it needs stirring, ya big fucking spoon… But he was right; now was the time.

Soon Dean found himself in the corridor outside Gen's room. He'd meant to knock but wasn't yet sure what he would do. He paced, eyeballing the door, running through options, openings lines. Maybe if he started with whatever felt right the words would just… Then he realised, she could probably hear him out there, on the concrete… "Gen?" Dean said, knocking quietly. Nothing. He knocked and called again. She wasn't' even there. "Fuck."

He found her in the kitchen preparing some packed meal and thought some nice conversation would be sensible but at this stage he was well over it.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he seemed angry.

"Okay," she said carefully. Gen put her food in the fridge and walked passed him waiting in the doorway. She walked too slowly. He passed her and took her hand, striding ahead. Gen felt her legs stretch as she worked to keep up without jogging. When she realised they were going to his room, and not likely anywhere else, she asked "So you want to talk privately?" It wasn't clear why he was taking her anywhere – they hardly needed privacy to yell – but she knew him well enough to let this pan out. As they covered the distance her mind tripped backwards, passed the drive home, skipping the stunted morning, back through the nest hunt and zoomed in on the date. His smile for her, and that moment when he'd undone her trench coat, his breath on the nape of her neck…

Dean lost no speed at his door, swinging her inside and closing them in darkness. He let go her hand and pulled at her waist, turning them both, pushing her against the door and bringing himself against her. He found her face so quickly, locking her into a wet and open kiss as they puffed into each other, teeth to teeth. She grabbed his arms and moaned as he shoved himself against her, breaking the kiss to breathe. Dean pressed his head against hers, rolling it a little, like he was testing her presence. His hands found her head and cradled it, palms over ears, as he kissed her again, humming at her fragrance. He slid his face into the softness under her ear to breathe it in and Gen couldn't help but tilt for him. His lips on her were electrifying. She didn't want to be taken over by all this just yet.

Then he picked his head up and looked at her in the dark. "You were making a lunch," he stated.

Gen tried to calm her breathing. "Yeah," she admitted.

"Why?" Dean asked, lower than before.

"Why do you think?" she answered, not a little bitter. He tightened his grip and shifted his weight a little. "Let me guess, you clenching your jaw? Licking your lips while you figure out how to save things?"

"The fuck?" he winced, caught out and shitty.

"I told you Dean," Gen said through clenched teeth. He pulled back a little in surprise and she took the opportunity to push him, but he wouldn't let go completely. He kept a hand on her waist while they were blind. "I told you I wouldn't be screwed around. What the hell was today?"

"Today? Today was fine!" She didn't respond. "It was normal." Again, she waited. "It was normal for someone!"

"Fuck off," she was pointing at him, in the dark, "it was awkward as all shit! Fucked if I'm having another day like that fuck buddy!"

"Hey, you played it straight too," he argued, matching her volume. "You didn't touch me! You didn't even make freaking eye contact, let alone flirt." She pushed his arm away to leave but when he heard her grab the handle he slammed his hand on the door, his weight keeping it closed.

"Why did you even bother with the same bed?" she asked quietly.

He understood, then, that she felt he'd started it. That she'd done what she thought he wanted. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Gen flicked on the light and watched him squint at her. "I'm not quite ninja enough to kick your ass in the dark," she said, and did her best to not look intimidated.

"I'd love you to kick my ass." That goddam smirk. "And when did you get so sweary?"

She didn't even register the light banter. "You shifted the goalposts again."

"Yeah," he admitted, like that was just what happens, and stared at her.

"Dean, I think you're misunderstanding." Gen stepped back a little and crossed her arms, squaring off. "This is not the part where you seduce me, again. It's not where you woo me into being your lover in the dark and your workmate in the daylight. This is the part where you realise that you have to say it's either on or off, or I will leave in the morning and sleep alone till then."

She stopped to let him think. But he wasn't thinking as much as coping. He hadn't met her wrath face to face and he couldn't break her glare. It was hot enough when she did it to others. And, best he could tell, she wasn't afraid of him. He wasn't even sure he had any leverage and it was terrifying. His breath has risen in his chest and he found his hand on the door was keeping him still as much as keeping him up.

"You'll leave if it's off?" he asked like a complete bitch.

She breathed in and glared at the horizon for a moment before trying again. "No. If you decide, I'll stay. If you are indecisive, I'll go."

"So you'll stay whether it's a yes or a no, as long as it's a yes or a no."

"Holy shit. Dean," Gen said walking away, "I just want to know what's going on."

"Well, what do you-"

"_No!_" she yelled, "Not me! _You!_" She pointed, furious. "_Do you want to be with me or not?_"

One and Two are for the thinking.

Three is for the keen kids.

Four is for when the others realise you mean, yes, you can answer the question.

Five.

"Let me know if you want help on the full moon," she spat. Dean had just enough brains to get out of the way of the door as it swung by.


	12. Chapter 12

Once she got on the other side of town, Genevieve pulled over, grabbed her phone and texted Sam: Hey, sorry for not saying bye, but trusting I'll see you again. Call if you ever want a third set of hands. Later hugger.

Half an hour later he replied: We'll be in IL on Thurs. Keep me updated on where you are so I know if you're handy. You'll be missed.

She answered almost immediately: Ditto.

Two days later, she found a salt and burn. A policeman had let slip that his wife's death of a year ago might be connected to a homicide in their old home. It was embarrassing for the squad but the local rag had run with it until the uniforms told them to shut up. Gen's appearance as a sympathetic ear was well timed and he poured out his suspicions to the first person he could trust. Namely a stranger who would soon leave town.

First things first, Gen headed off to the local cemetery to deal with the corpse. The cop assured her he'd not kept a single artefact of her person. It had gone well, a slight close call with the caretaker, but she was sad to be working alone. Not least of all because graving digging was the bitchiest part of the whole job. She'd tried to get out by laying the shovel across the hole and pulling herself out, but it snapped and she felt _things_ break beneath her as she landed. Yelchh. She came this close to digging footholds into the hole's wall. Where the hell were those tall guys and their big arms? In the end, it was the screaming apparition behind her that was most motivating. She bunnied her feet up that wall faster than a chiwawa and threw the whole damn lighter in over her shoulder. Kept her fit, though.

Things fell quiet for a bit. Gen wondered how on earth she hadn't been lonely in the years before hunting with the Winchesters.

She spent a few weeks cruising around youth hostels, common hunting grounds for bitey things. It was a solid distraction from recent events and could be pretty fun. Her favourites were the demons. They always had some drama going on, always a desperately important personal vendetta or some vengeful oath. Lordy Lordy. For a long time she'd end up on the Kleenex end of some other drama too, a romance or scandal, but as she'd gotten older she developed an eye for that shit. The only sideline thing Gen bothered with these days was abusive types. She'd become quite proud of managing her own tears, but it didn't do much for quashing her frustrations and this was a rough week for the idiot men who went for more than was offered. She was careful to stop short of hospital-level punishment.

Then came a perfect hit. Some rich guy had bought his mistress a cursed amulet. She'd been killed by the attached spirit and he found his wife was similarly threatened. A friend of a friend of a friend of an acquaintance gave him one of her numbers and a few days later she was texting Sam another town and state. This was the kind of job she hung out for. Long story short: by the end, the guy was that scared, and his wife was that close to finding out, Gen was able to extort twice a year's minimum wage from him. It went a long way to extending her inheritance from her parents' will. Yey for the Greater Good.

From Sam's replies, it seemed they had been busy too. Around the last full moon, Sam had texted the town they had last worked, but hadn't asked for help so she assumed the best. Gen was glad they were busy and doing well without her, again. But she tried not to think about that. It was hard not to feel like she was drumming her fingers.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean parked the Impala in the 'car park'. He assumed it was the 'car park' thanks to its shape and lack of trees. But there were no other cars and no one – in years – would park there. The building at the other end of the space was flat and grey, years of wind and rain having worn the white paint off the boards. It was hard to tell what it had ever been. He and Sam sat there and looked at the building.

"I can't even see the entrance," Sam sighed.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Whole thing stinks… Alright, let's see if we can save this kid."

Sam pulled out his phone and began typing. Dean looked over at the brightness. "What're you doing?"

"Texting Gen."

Dean tripped a bit. "Why?"

"She's an hour away," Sam answered, frowning at his screen. "I'm asking her to start driving if I don't text in thirty minutes."

They were quiet as they collected their gear, when Sam receiving a reply from Gen. "She says she's headed east tomorrow anyway, so she's gonna start driving now. We can tell her to skip it if we're good," Sam reported.

Dean chucked out a "Cool," and his brain went _Ooooor_ we could have a beer, check she's okay, see how she's doing, it'd be rude not to say hi after she's-

"You here?" Sam said.

"Yeah!" Dean shrugged. "I'm good."

They headed for the building under cover of forest keeping to the shadows of the half moon. Skulking around the overgrown grounds, it was hard to see anything. They needed their own torches to keep from tripping over and the building was dark.

"How do you know?" Dean whispered to Sam.

"What?"

"How do you know she's an hour away?"

"Coz she told me," Sam whispered back harshly.

"When?!"

"I dunno, when she got there?" Sam answered.

"What? Sam-" Dean stopped to drag him behind a larger tree. "Why do you know where she is?"

"Whenever we work in a new town we text each other," Sam said, waiting for him to understand.

"Why?" Nope, not understanding.

"For exactly things like this, Dean." Sam explained. "Nothing else."

He took a moment to think of the past weeks, two months' worth now, of pretending to not wonder about her and how she was. "Talk about it later."

They went to head off, but Dean backhanded Sam in the shoulder. "No, lemme see," he demanded and put his hand out for the phone. Sam rolled his eyes and sighed.

Dean woke the little screen and scrolled up the previous conversations. He read the list of towns that were sent back and forth and, in the later ones, the little chats about places they'd been before – "Try Sally's burgers", "I think Sally done gone died. That was rank", "I meant, as a job", "othanks now I'm the job". Freaking banter. He missed her. He missed that with her.

"Dean," Sam could see his face in the electronic glow, and some sort of emotion being managed. "She's by herself, and-"

"Woulda been nice to know Sam," he said, slamming the phone into Sam's chest. He went back to their task and decided to forget it for as long as possible. The more things got screwed up the further away from him she seemed.

Low shrubs flanked the sides and they found a covered entrance around the back. They went carefully, using only weak moonlight now, but both were conscious of how many spots they couldn't safely flush.

They readied their guns, devil's-trap bullets loaded, and shifted carefully around the doorway. As Dean went for the handle, he barely heard the sounds of rustling fabric before the awful noise of Sam being struck across the head. Dean turned to see a large shadow standing over Sam's fallen body. He raised his arm, demon knife in hand, but didn't see the second one come from behind.

…

Gen pulled up the car as soon as she saw the hard lines of the Impala in the moonlight. She wore a beanie to disguise the shiny hair and set off as quickly as possible, cutting a fat curve around the area. From the side she spotted two goons guarding the entrance. She took a minute or so to see if there were more, but it seemed like a small party. Edging closer, taking her time, she could see a light on inside and began to hear someone talking. It seemed someone was angry with the Winchester boys. Didn't really narrow the field. But the guy was grand, at least; his pitch danced, he had flourish. He liked a speech.

Closer still and she heard a reply, the low sass of Dean rolling through the windows. Gen expected she would be nervous to see him again but she was surprised to find herself so anxious. The desire to be by them and see that they're okay was almost overwhelming. She digested the feeling and pushed it down. As she went to move again, Dean raised his voice and she knew, instantly, something had gone wrong. She could detect the desperate warning in whatever he'd said. Her chest bounced with her breath, hating to hear him distraught and she worried for Sam but, almost as quickly, realised Dean would be worrying about her coming to save them. Ah well, she thought, he'll get over it eventually.

Gen went a little further, cutting deeper into the undergrowth and directly in front of the entrance. She'd recently tried using old school arrowheads etched with little devil's traps and found it worked as well as the bullets. So, from within the branches, she lined up her first goon, second arrow beside her and ready to reload. Once the first was got, in the thigh, the second advanced toward her. Gen watching him come and breathed evenly while going through the motions she could execute behind her back, then aimed and shot again. He dropped to his knee rooted to the spot. Both made enough noise for her to give up trying to be a surprise. She ran toward the closer demon and kept herself out of arm's reach while she ducked down to use him as a shield from the other and the entrance. She quietly performed the exorcism and checked the pulse of the vessel, with no luck.

Dashing to the second, she saw he'd pulled out the shaft and but head had remained. She almost whispered the Latin this time, faster than she's ever attempted, watching the front door throughout. The stinking black smoke was chilling as it slipped over her back and disappeared into the forest. The second vessel showed no signs of hope. She ran sideways and hid in bushes in case someone came out to inspect. But no one did. She figured he must be waiting for her.


	14. Chapter 14

Gen listened and waited. Whoever was holding them was starting to sound peevish and annoyed. She had her crossbow and decided that it would be the weapon to sacrifice. The talking stopped.

Creeping to the unguarded door, she eased it open and made her way through a small foyer. Dean came into sight almost immediately. He was kneeling, sitting on his propped feet, hands bound behind him. Beside him, Sam was also tied but out for the count. His position was so awkward like he looked dribbled down from the roof. She recognised Dean's neutral expression, and then where his eyes directed.

Gen whipped herself through the doorway and aimed at the spot he indicated, but instantly found herself disarmed. She yelped helplessly. "Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!" she prayed, "Please don't hurt me!" Gen squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists in hope. When nothing happened she squinted to peek and noticed the body of a man leaning against the wall, blood pooled around him. She put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes moaning "Oohm'god".

The demon smiled and tilted his head. "Of course I won't hurt you, sweetie," he drawled. "You're okay."

Gen's eyes darted between Dean and his captor. She looked sorry already. Dean's jaw dropped and he began to fight panic.

"Come closer cupcake," the demon gestured, "What's your name?"

"Genevieve," she answered, walking to him almost sideways.

"Did you best my two boys out there?"

"Sort of," she shrugged, hands pulling at the cuffs of their own sleeves. "Dean taught me how to do it. A few months ago." Dean noticed her beanie and suddenly it looked like a dorky overshoot.

"Really?"

"I just did it how he said."

"Right, and how did he say?" the demon asked politely, lacing his fingers together.

Gen looked at the wall, pretending to remember the words. "He said 'Do it without touching them'. So I engraved devil's traps into the arrow heads." She half smiled, apologetically. Dean and the demon were both impressed. "And then I exorcised them. In Latin." Quick shrug. She noticed Dean's expression drop. "_In Latin"_?

"Right," said the monster, "must watch out for arrows in the future… My name is Anthony by the way." And he walked away. "You know, if you try to run, I can stop you from here."

Gen nodded anxiously. She pinched at the seams of her jeans. Anthony now leaned against a chair, in front of Dean and to his right. Gen saw the demon blade on the seat.

"So, Genevieve," Anthony said, an idea coming to him, "you have the poor misfortune of a big decision." He took a few steps back towards Gen. "I want to kill Sam."

Gen looked at him on the ground and let a small "No" escape. Her eyes darted between them all.

"But," he continued, "Dean doesn't agree with me. He thinks I should kill him."

Her face dropped in dread.

Anthony turned to her and asked, deliciously, "What do you think?"

"What?" she asked, colour draining.

"Who do you think I should kill?" he clarified.

"No. I can't decide," Gen's shook her head in short little twitches, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I can't do that."

"But you must, sweetie," Anthony leaned in. "You will."

Gen looked at him desperately, pleading with her eyes. He looked expectant. She shook her hands vigorously and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Ummm," she whined, "I don't know! Dean?" she looked at him, "I don't know!"

"It's okay, Gen," he said firmly, still not sure she hadn't actually gone to shit, "you don't have to say anything."

"Mmmm!" Gen was practically dancing on the spot, "I don't know! Is it Dean?" Dean closed his eyes and tried not to shake his head.

"_I_ don't know," Anthony said simply and came closer to Gen again. "Why should it be Dean?" He was terribly entertained.

"Well," Gen began, crossing her arms over her head, "He's older? And I can say sorry to him before he goes."

"Oh," Anthony put his hand to his chest, "that is just precious."

"Wait!" she stopped, wide eyed and worried. "Is Sam still alive?! Is this a trick question?"

"He is still alive," Dean answered, barely covering his frustration.

"No! I know!" Gen almost stopped moving, except for the trembling in her hands and chin. "Is the answer 'me'?"

"Oh dear," Anthony rolled his eyes, smiling. "It might have to be." Gen began to make a weepy sound in the back of her throat while she looked at Dean for direction. Her cheeks winced, bottom lip pulled against her teeth.

Anthony turned again walking back toward the chair. Gen reached into her jacket as he began speaking - "What if I were to-" and in two quick motions, withdrew and threw a knife into his back.

"Ugh!" he gasped as he stumbled and grasped at his back calling "No!" But Gen was already there, demon blade snatched from the chair, and she stabbed him through the chest as he stood paralysed.


	15. Chapter 15

Gen waited for the evil in him to burn out before she straddled the fallen body and pulled out both knives, one in each hand, and wiped them on its shoulders.

"Gen," Dean breathed.

"Yeah?" Gen sat back on her foot, still half straddling the dead body. "Hi."

He didn't know what to say. He stared. "I have…" …He had no words.

She pointed at the side of her own blade. "Devil's trap again," she revealed quietly. "You pleased to see me?" Not a hint of sass.

"Yes," he answered, still staring, "so much." Seconds were lost, but Gen couldn't maintain the eye contact and looked at the floor for mercy. Dean came to and said "We gotta go. He was going to trade us off."

"Was he the bait?" Gen nodded at the poor guy by the wall.

"Yeah," Dean explained as she cut their ropes, "we knew – we knew it was a trap – but what can you do when they pluck a random kid out of football practice, you know?"

"Yeah, demons are the original assholes… How are we going to get the big guy outta here? Drag him out on a chair?"

Dean leaned over his brother and grabbed his shoulder. "Hey! Sam!" he shook him, smacked him on the cheek. "Sammy!" He groaned and blinked, forehead willing his eyes open. Dean held him up and carefully said "We need to leave. Can you walk?"

Gen had collected her things and checked what looked like another exit. "We can get out here, into bushes."

They grabbed their things and, leaving the light on, made their way out the door, Sam grunting as he battled for equilibrium. Suddenly, car lights swung over the building, somehow so close already, and the trio crouched in the shadows and froze. Doors slammed as a second car arrived. Crunchy footsteps traipsed around the building. As soon as they were out of sight, Gen found a gap in the undergrowth and pushed her way out, showing the way for Dean to lead Sam. She spotted an actual path to their right, dirt thankfully, not gravel, and they bolted away from the building. Sam found his feet as they ran, deep breaths slowly washing away the fuzz. His concussion was the only way Gen could've kept up with them.

The boys skidded into the Impala and Gen barrelled on to her own car beyond. As Dean started the engine, he could see the cars back at the building begin to light up. He paused the Impala behind Gen's car while she turned it around. She pulled away quickly but didn't floor it, conscious that Dean's engine would prompt a chase if they seemed to be escaping. A few hundred yards and the first straight road she meets, she guns it, furiously leading them away, straight for sealed roads and freeways to get the distance. Sam turned to look behind them and it seemed their getaway had been a success.

They kept driving, getting an hour of distance, and at the next decent town, Gen led them off the freeway, around the back of the main streets and wound her way to a service station. They parked side by side and everyone got out and stretched their legs.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked her. "Your sat nav chasing a moth?"

"In case we were being followed," Gen answered patiently. "You should check your car for a tracking device."

"You serious?" Dean asked. He wasn't pissed but unsure.

"Why not?" she asked, "We got away pretty easily." She looked at Sam as he leaned beside Dean. They had no answer, so ran their fingers over the two vehicles, behind the wheels, inside the hoods. Then Dean found something, taped under Baby's fender – a pouch of hoodoo junk. "What the fuck?" he'd growled. He had a proper look before removing it. No amount of swearing would match his mood. "Son of a bitch! Goddam assholes sticking shit to my car, what the freaking hell?"

"You think this was theirs?" Sam asked, turning it over.

"I couldn't give less of a shit who's it is, Sam," he snatched it back and threw it on the ground. "I didn't put it there, so it can get fucked." He pulled out his lighter, but Gen remembered something.

"Wait! Open it first, check you're not triggering something," she warned. They pulled it apart and Sam looked it over with his torch. "Yeah," he confirmed, "it's a flag. It needs crushing, not burning." He pulled out a little bone and snapped it between his fingers. "Twice in one night, Gen," Sam shook his head, "don't know how we've survived this long without you."

"Uuum how concussed are you?" she asked. Oh yeah.

"Touche," Dean admitted. "Meanwhile, I'm too hungry to think. Back soon."

Sam stepped away to make an anonymous call about the building, something about shots fired, yadda yadda, something to get the cops out to that boy's body. Gen watched Dean walk off, wondering which direction he would take things. She really had no idea where they were at, and was finding it hard to think clearly about the situation without a series of preferred activities flashing through her mind.

Sam interrupted her. "So, hi!" he said. Gen grinned back, "Hi! How are you?" and they chatted. They caught up. She couldn't let go of how good it was to have a familiar face to talk with, someone she knew, who was nice and cared for her. She felt like it was reciprocated, because it was. Sam had missed her too, missed her asking after him. Dean appeared, food in hand, shared it around and they ate for a bit.

As he focused on his burger, Dean turned to Gen and asked "How would you feel about Sam driving your car?" He glanced at her. "We could catch up."

"Sure," she nodded, recrossing her legs as she leaned against his car, "if he's fit to drive, sounds good. He can follow us to my next town." Sam nodded as he ate.

Dean finished his food, leaning against Gen's car, watching people come and go. As Gen scrunched up her wrappers he remembered something. "By the way," she looked at Dean's shoes, "you should probably know that I would've said you."

Dean looked at her and she raised her eyes to him when she swallowed. She clarified: "If I'm ever cornered into picking which one of you lives, it'll always be Sam." She stood to chuck her rubbish in a nearby trashcan.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "Gen," Sam began, getting off the car, "you don't-"

"I expect you to do the same," she looked at Dean, "and I expect Sam to choose you. Every time. Without fail."

"Gen!" Sam was incensed, "you can't just lay down a rule. Circumstances might change how-"

"Yeah, Sam, you can. See how I just did? The rule is: You choose your brother over someone you've known less than a year." She faced him squarely and laid it down. "It goes innocent citizen," she used her hand to show the high-water mark and moved down, "you, Dean, anyone else you like, then me."

Dean was watching her carefully. He had a hunch.

"Being related isn't everything," Sam said weakly.

"Well, when I chose," she said plainly, "it didn't make a difference but it was the right thing to do. I don't regret a thing."

"You had a brother?" Dean checked. She looked at him, hesitant but not upset.

"Yeah, a younger brother," she breathed in, "I don't need to talk about it. I'm just… letting you know."

She watched Dean watch her, rolling it over in his head. Sam's stern words broke her away from it. "I'm sorry. Gen, I'm so sorry you lost your brother… but don't bet on your rule making things easier in those times."

Gen looked at Sam steadily, her glare pinning him down, pushing him back a few moments to reflect upon what a wretched comment that was. He writhed a little against it, and Dean watched the comeuppance like a voyeur. When she did speak, it was like knocking bone on stone. "You think that would be easy… for me…?"

Sam swallowed solemnly, shifted, and conceded. "No. Of course not… sorry."

Gen softened her expression a little, in forgiveness, and Sam didn't register that he'd nodded it back to her. Dean was riveted at how Sam could apologise so well. He couldn't explain how he felt about Gen.

Dean gave them a break. "It could keep the bastards from using us against each other, if they knew we'd already chosen."

"No, it wouldn't," Sam said grimly. "It really wouldn't."

A beat passed. Gen pulled out her car keys and threw them to Sam. "Alright. You want the real reason? You," she pointed at Sam casually, "would forgive me." She opened the passenger door. "Could you imagine, after that decision, sharing a planet with him let alone a car trip? Ugh! Not this little black duck. Sorry little brother: you get to live."


	16. Chapter 16

"How 'bout you scootch over here," Dean said smoothly.

Gen squinted down the road, wondering how much Sam was watching their silhouettes from her car behind them. "Yeah, that's kinda the shit I was talking about."

"What? I'm being affectionate!"

"You're being hot," she looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow and pouted, nodding ohyeah. "And ten minutes ago you were being cold just because someone else was there." Eyebrows down. "It's a big flag. A great big waving neon flag. With flames." She wiggled her fingers in the air to gesture the burning flag.

Dean chewed on his tongue. He knew she was right.

"Well, you seemed to deal with it just fine," he grumbled. Stupid pride.

"You think it doesn't affect me that much?"

"I dunno. You just seemed to leave rather easily."

"You mean the part where I left something like a home – where I drove away from the only two friends I have – so I wouldn't have to tolerate you ignoring me? …Unaffected my ass," she grumbled.

Safety in silence.

"I'm matching you. Coz you being distant fucking undoes me," Gen said looking at nothing in particular, indignant and defensive. "It hurts my feelings. I just copy you to feel some alliance."

A weight dropped onto Dean's chest, and he stared at the darkness ahead as she confessed. Now he felt it, acutely, how much he'd pushed her away and left her outside and wondering, how cruel it had been.

He was sore with guilt, but quickly shook it off and grew up. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise. You were right to leave."

"That's cos you wouldn't look at me to see." Gen breathed a little, and cut him a break. "If I were in my 20s, or whatever, I might've tolerated the crazy weather just to be near you, hope for something between shrugs, but I'm your age, Dean. Your _actual_ age. Sometimes I've got be my own big sister."

That's right. She was a big sister. Dean remembered and said nothing out of reverence, but Gen wasn't about to get something out of nothing. To her, the car had become some kind of waiting room.

After a while, her mind wandered and she shared where it went, because it wasn't a 'let's share this lovely silence' silence.

"I can't remember what it was like before you two." She turned to look at him while he watched the road. "I remember what I did, but not how I felt. I don't know why… You ever hear about those people who didn't learn to speak till they're adults and then they can't remember anything from before language? One of them said it was just darkness…"

Dean nodded understanding and glanced at her, encouragingly. He wasn't sure why she'd said that. He couldn't see the context for the trees. He was ready to hear more but there wasn't any. Reading from her journal now seemed and too heavy for tonight and a misjudged idea. Gen turned back to the road.

Still, it was a share. He wanted to give something back, to make up for his icy treatment, but didn't have an equivalent story. At least, nothing that would fit into the car trip, nothing that would work without some whisky. "I worry that you'll be used against me. If we're together."

Gen squinted a little in thought. "You dropped everything for a stranger earlier today. Knowing it was a trap."

Dean's driving slipped into automatic for a moment, his mind occupied with her point. She thought aloud, "What's the use of skipping good bits? Unless you're only fighting for everyone else…"

Neither of them pursued it. Gen knew she was poking at his special flavour of martyrdom. She looked out the window idly, preparing herself for life beyond the car trip, once again visualising a series of predictable, unexciting, futures…

"I missed you," Dean offered, "like crazy."

He looked, hoping for some sort of reaction, but she only let her eyes shift over in his direction. He went on, offering it up like a white flag, "We actually stumbled a bit in that first week. We forgot you were gone a few times and almost got cornered. Sam and I were like 'Damn, where's the archer?' And I missed your sass. Sam just isn't…"

"Not flirty enough?"

Dean considered. "Yeah, that may be it. He's certainly not beautiful enough."

"C'mon, he's pretty... and thanks you, both," she said amiably. "It is nice to be missed for those things." Missed by you _and Sam_, she noted, for _skills_. She smiled nicely and then she slumped into the seat and frowned at the road, realising that he still hadn't decided. The sign for the city limits flashed passed.

"Sooo," Dean tried again, "How's about that scootching?"

"No," she replied, "I don't feel like being cuddly."

"What? You don't even wanna touch me?" he griped.

"That's really not what I said." If she got her head into the crook of that neck, there isn't a crook that'd be left untouched. It wasn't safe. Cuddling could come after, if anything came. "We'll be there in ten minutes."

Gen spent that time being frustrated at herself. She couldn't describe what she'd hoped for, but that conversation was rubbish. What the hell had they even talked about? He hadn't explained what he wanted. She hadn't made it clear that her question hadn't moved. She got the impression that Dean felt things were better than they were.

And he did. He formulated a plan to make the jump, to mash it all together and give her a thanksgiving-sweet performance. He was so proud of himself.


	17. Chapter 17

They pulled up to the motel and Sam was there, ready to lean on the Impala's window frame. His cheery face dropped away when he saw Gen look at him from under her eyebrows, and then he blinked back a wince when we saw Dean's incongruent grin.

"I- I'm going to get us a couple of rooms," he offered.

"Good," Gen said flatly.

"Great," Dean added happily.

Sam pinched a smile. Shit was somehow more strained.

Gen skipped looking back at Dean as she got out of the car and collected her bag from her own trunk. She waited, letting it hang against her shins, leaning against the wall. Dean was busy with equipment. When Sam returned, Dean caught his eye. "We should have a drink," he suggested, gesturing for Sam to back him up.

"Yeah!" Sam caught on fast, "something to wrap up a win." Gotta back a brother up.

"Guys," Gen was already rolling her eyes in reluctance, "I'm not-"

"Just one Gen," Sam draped a heavy arm over her shoulders, "you've earned it."

They flung their stuff down, Gen dropping hers by the door, and Dean hopped to with the liquor. He began as he poured the last one, "Alright Sam, you gotta see how this went down."

"Really?" he sipped his drink.

"Oh! Mmmy god! Okay, hang on," he pulled a chair over near the end of one of the beds, "okay, you sit on the bed there. You're me." Sam sat. Gen had softened on her first sip but was leaning back a lot right now. "You're you," he pointed at Gen, "I'm Anthony, the chair is a chair."

"Aha! Awesome!" Sam put his drink at his feet and clapped his hands. "Where am I?"

Okay then. We're back to goofy friends then? Alrighty. Gen went over to the neighbouring bed and grabbed the quilt cover, hoiking it up and down a few times so it sat in a messy peak. "This… is you on concussion."

"Okay," Dean's gets his jacket off and waves Gen through the beginning of her meeting Anthony, "skip the part where you first walk in- Except! He disarmed you and you said…?"

Gen looked at him for a quarter second. She could see he was trying to go back to Life Before Fling. She'd prepared herself for this. At least it's a fun way to segue. In the seconds it took to put her drink on the table, she'd gotten herself back into the mode of three month ago. Complete acceptance was put aside for later.

She went back to her spot, centre stage. "Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasedon'thurtme!" she said, bracing herself and squinting at Dean.

"What?" Sam asked, amazed. "No!"

"Yeah, Sam, she went for it!"

They recreated the whole thing, as best they could recall, Dean setting up his favourite parts and repeating her lines like a little brother.

Sam was loving the show, and not for anyone's benefit. Gen rolled her eyes in embarrassment, flared her chin at the compliments and frowned her smiles at Dean, willing him to tone it down.

"Is the answer 'me'?" Gen asked pathetically. Sam spit his drink a little and wiped his chin.

"Oh dear," Dean said, camping it up as much as his wrists would allow, "it might have to be. And Sam, watch this, he turns and she," Dean looks at Gen, "can you do it, like in realtime?"

"Okay," she laughed, bemused. Dean went through the motions and she played it out as it happened, sitting on his legs to fake pull out the fake knives.

"And then she _wipes them on his shoulders_," Dean said from the carpet. Sam is clapping heartily, nodding through a drink-filled smile. Dean rolled under her weight, leaning on his elbows with her on his lap. Gen didn't get up yet, not wanting to seem repulsed or rude.

"I'm telling you Sammy, I've never been more petrified and more impressed at the same time," Dean laughed, looking directly at Gen.

"Man, it's a good thing I was out. I would've lost my shit at that," Sam shook his head. "You got some big hairy balls, Gen."

"Sam," she glared, "you know how I feel about balls... Vagina's are way tougher."

Dean sat up and Gen had no choice but to look at him. She didn't recognise his smile. He collected her head, hand behind her ear, and kissed her. A plain, soft, warm kiss. When he looked at her next, she seemed surprised, so did it again, like it was in italics. Then, when she looked at his mouth, and he instinctively pulled her in for a deep, inhaling, tasting kiss. Sam had to look away.

When he felt he'd made his point, Dean's was waiting to see what she'd say about that. Gen was quiet and neutral.

She squeaked a polite smile out the corners of her eyes and said "I'm going to go and take a shower," as she stood.

Sam caught her before she got too far. "Thanks again Gen, for coming for us. It was…" he waved his hand over the stage and she caught it as he searched for the word.

"Any time," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm glad you're okay."

By the time she turned to look at Dean, he was standing, feeling good about a job well done. All was as it should be. All was square. She smiled again, and Dean thought he could see contentment, or something peaceful, at least. Half right.

After Gen left, it took a few moments for conversation to strike up again. They talked about the hunt, the end, the victim. Sam asked about Gen.

"So what's the go?" he leaned against the kitchenette.

"I think it's good," Dean nodded.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Dean opened his mouth and closed it. He thought… "It's on," he nodded confidently.

"It's on?" Sam repeated. "It's on how?"

"Like it was!"

"Uh, you just kissed her. 'Like it was' was friends," Sam was annoyed, "and now she's in her room _by herself_."

"No Sam," Dean faced him to clarify. "It was _great_ friends; we had an awesome friendship. Goofing around and flirting and everything. And then we had great sex and a great date. So now it's friends plus." He turned to his bag. "If she wants to have a shower, I'm not gonna smother her, just like we were before. She's a smart woman, Sam. She can see what I'm saying."

"I don't think Gen is on that page, coz if I didn't get it, she sure as hell won't. Dean, I think she's rattled," Sam warned. "And I think she meant for you to follow her."

Dean carried on a moment before he paused, doubting himself. "You think?"

"Well, if you're so confident of how things are, what else would be expected of you?" he rested on this.

It took Dean another moment to decide. "I'll just go check," he muttered and headed out the door.


	18. Chapter 18

Gen had showered with a concussed heart. Washing her body and hair was like a cleansing ritual. She'd readied for bed, her condition barely better, vision a little less tunnelled. She'd wondered if she should give him more time tonight, feeling easily able to watch the sun rise over that. She'd wondered if she should go and talk to him, or text him, but then he hadn't contacted her for any reason... She should at least leave a note. She was pinned between places.

Dean didn't knock on her door. He registered that the bedside light was the only one on, but was startled by Gen beside him. At least she was there. He hadn't realised how afraid he was that she'd gone again.

"Where the hell have you been?" her tone was sassy, but it came out so quietly. Leaning against the wall beside the door, in an a-shirt and pyjama pants, Gen was pressing the back of her head against the wallpaper.

Dean closed the door soothing "Hey, Gen, I-" and almost made contact.

"Where have you been?" she asked again, pushing off from the wall. Even though his instinct was to comfort her, he was lost and stumped.

"I-" Dean was shorting out. He raised his hands to rub her arms, a default gesture, saying "Gen-"

But she knocked him away, arms up between his, banging the bones, and shoved his chest. He winced at it. Got him right where it hurts. Then she grabbed his shirt to haul him into the wall where she'd stood, ramming her forearms against his chest. "Were have you been?" she pleaded hotly.

Dean watched her, shocked at her state. His hands were up in surrender, ready to apologise for everything.

She had never seen him so worried. Why am I even going here? she cried to herself, why can't I just take what's offered? Why put us through this drama?

Yet she couldn't help it. She'd fallen and she couldn't get up.

"I- I'm sorry," he whispered. It wasn't a flimsy apology. He'd been tasting regret for months.

Gen gritted her teeth as she felt her face water. "Ugh!" she dropped her head between her elbows, "I waited…"

It occurred to him then, what she'd said in the car, that she'd been through so much, and that he'd been drip feeding his intimacy after a long drought. He felt like a prize asshole. A self-centred, short-sighted asshole.

His hands now hovered by her shoulders. "Gen, I'm so sorry," and let her rock against him, pushing his air out, "I'm here." He bit the inside of his lower lip.

Gen picked her head up, trying to work away the tears before they broke the bank. "I'm so angry at us… I'm sorry, Dean," she said, looking at her fists on his chest, "I wish I wanted you less than this. Less than you wanted me." She hated how pathetic is sounded, but would not feel ashamed.

Gen pushed off him and walked away, far away, to the opposite wall by the bathroom door, and paced a little, deciding what to do next, hands on hips, trying to navigate.

Dean got his breathing back to full depth, his cheeks still high watching the mess she'd become. "Gen, I don't… I think you're wrong about that," he said gently. "Of course you need someone. No one's supposed to…"

She threw a glare at him before she could stop herself, making him pause. Talking in general terms wasn't helping; she wanted the specifics that related to him. He was supposed to say he wanted her. Dean retreated a bit, asking "Why are you all the way over there?"

She puffed out her mouth and tried to relax, thinking for a moment and eyed him off… "I am Dean's emotional distance." Arid sarcasm. It made his ribs bounce.

"I got whiplash," she said fatly. "I thought you were saying you'd chosen buddies, like before… and then you kissed me."

"Yeah… I can see how that could happen," he conceded. "I've been pretty… vague."

"I've seen concept boards with clearer messages." Gen's chin betrayed her and the tears broke, but to her relief, she was beyond sobbing confessions. She was sad, regretful, but contained. "It's not _just_ that I haven't got anyone," she said gesturing, and then cut off that therapy session with flat hands. "I just… I'd really prepared myself for any outcome, and when I thought it was the platonic one…" Dean shook his head and started walking toward her, because he wanted her comforted and he didn't want anyone else to do it. Suddenly he couldn't figure out how his pissy reasons not to have her had stopped him. He wanted her with him. He wanted her to know it and to banish any thought of rejection as soon as possible.

"I'd let go of anything else," Gen continued. He wrapped her in his arms even though she rested her fists against his chest, her forearms between them. She rested her forehead on him as she explained, as he kissed her hair. (At least he knew her well enough to not interrupt.) "But when you did that, in front of Sam, pretty much _exactly what I've been asking for_, I had this sharp, this stinging-" She lifted her head to look at him, determined to take care of herself one more time, a finger in his face. "When it ends, this time, it will be in a regular way, okay? With a warning. Like because of arguing, or stale sex, or a monster. Nothing cryptic. Nothing distant."

He looked down at her, sighing unsteadily, determined to fix something right. "I promise, when this ends I will not be a jerk," he said solemnly. She breathed out. "You know," he tried lightly, "only two of those are likely." Dean looked her over, white-knuckled, red eyed and shiny in the light, and repeated, "We'll finish either because of our work, or because it ends."

"The usual ways," Gen nodded, brow fierce. "Anything else is verging on abusive... Please don't just snatch it away." Her words were wet with hurt, her tone almost wrenching her away stability.

Dean looked at her, seeing how it was true, and nodded in remorse. Her eyes welled and she dropped her face down to cough, or laugh, both of them feeling her on the edge of weeping for her loss and loneliness, and its reprieve. But when she raised her head she was breathing through pinched lips and staving it off for another time. She blinked, seeming to suck the moisture back, only to look up and see Dean sad as well. The thought of her ever being lonely and sad was leaning on his heart so sharply - it felt like a neat little stake with the words "fickle bastard" engraved on its side. He knew - _knew_ - that so much of her grief was before his time, but still... As he tried to keep his lip from quivering, his eyebrows tilted and he steadied his breathing. Gen kissed him quickly, holding his face close, and again, feeling him tremble against her mouth, a thread of grief falling.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "Gen, I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I'm sorry I took it back and that I didn't call, after you'd lost so much and been alone for so long and that I didn't just do what I fucking wanted." Gen nodded and kissed him to control herself. Then he kissed her back bending her against him, cupping her head, hugging her waist, trying to prove the point without hurting her. She grabbed at his shirt and returned his passion with a desperate moan. The kiss broke, full lips puffing against each other. "Okay," she accepted. Their eyes met again and they took their time. They brushed each other's cheeks and breathed themselves calm, eyes and heads resting.

"Don't stay sad," she said softly. "It's done. I'm not leaving."

"I won't let you," he answered and lifted her face to see him say it again, full of regret and promise - "_I won't let you_, Gen." Her brow cleared a little more and he relaxed some as she shifted her weight against him, slipping her arms under his and letting them rest on his back. She hugged his a little and smiled gently, hopefully. It was distracting. She was finally close again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hmmm. I didn't expect things to get so angsty but there it went.


	19. Chapter 19

It seemed they had bottomed out. Gen breathed deeply, looking up at the man in her arms, trying to relax about their closeness. Dean's gaze slipped down to her lips, then her chest, and back up to her eyes, because he's such a gentleman… She caught him out, her mind racing ahead to what might happen. She suddenly felt terribly sober and out of sorts, and not at all sexy.

"This is not how I hoped tonight would go," he lamented, resting his smile on her forehead.

"Pththth," Gen raspberried, "this and the fifty nights prior." You doofus. "I do really, _really_ I appreciate the effort you went to tonight. I'm sorry I misread it so badly. So let's start again. You," she said, taking Dean's wrist – why not hand? – and leading him to toward the door, "should knock this time and say 'Hhhhello'," she cocked her eyebrow and pouted suggestively, "'I hhev come to clean ze pool'."

"What accent is that?" Dean wondered.

"I dunno. What accent can you do?"

"German?"

"…Maybe you'll fix the oven." She almost made it to the door, but Dean pulled back.

"Wait, Gen," Dean took her hand and stopped her, "do you seriously want to role play?"

"No…" she looked at the floor. "Sorry…" She gave in to her anxieties, "how did that first night happen, again?"

He muttered to himself, "God I have seriously fucked this up," making Gen wince a little. "Okay, no more apologies," he said gently. "It's my fault. Let me make it up to you." Something like the regular Dean seemed to be back. He certainly didn't want to waste the night feeling sorry. He tucked her damp hair behind her ear and settled her into his hold a little. "How did you hope tonight would go?" Let's get fixin'.

Gen watched his lashes flick up and down as he considered her and she almost lost her place when his eyes finally fixed on hers. He came in close again while she formed her answer, nudging her with his nose. Normally, what was in Gen's head versus what got out her mouth was carefully regulated, but Dean's intimacy, the closeness, electrified her and the interference on those signals was wreaking havoc.

"I- I changed into pretty underwear before I started driving," she confessed. "Not sure my priorities were honourable, in that moment." Dean tried to stifle his giggle as he closed the space between them. He spoke with his lips against hers, holding back the something more. "Well, we've both made mistakes, I suppose."

The tickle of him was delicious, but… "I can't seriously look appealing right now," Gen said into his mouth. She did feel her tear-tightened face and half-dry hair gave her an air of crazed ex.

"You look here," Dean pulled back, and properly took her in, noticing her pyjamas, "and ready for bed. I kinda like dishevelled on you." He was going gently. He sighed as he spoke, sliding his hands down her torso and pressing her into him and his gaze. "So… what do you want to do with me?"

That rumbling sentence was the sexiest thing she'd ever heard him say. What she should've done was pin his bones to the wall again, there and then. She should've pulled him in for some all-consuming kiss, held his lip in her teeth as she explained the bare minimum of needs, led his hand to Tumblr knows where, and gotten binge-drunk on his body and voice.

But Gen forgot she was still in full-disclosure mode and _actually thought_ _about the question_. Damn interference. She paused a moment, then shook her head in denial. "No, I can't tell you that yet. It's-"

"Wait, tell me all what?" Dean stopped, his head popping up. "For one, that sounds damn interesting, and two, what's wrong with telling me what you want?"

"Nothing!" she agreed, "in theory. It's just…" He waited. "It's a lot! It's…" she was losing volume, "It's-"

"Is it kinky?" Dean asked, a soft smile contained.

"No!" Gen frowned. "Actually, I'm not sure," she lost focus, "it might be… I don't think so, but I don't really know… about… that stuff. Anyway, the point is it's-"

"Is there equipment involved?" he asked simply. Her blush was apparent, even from the single bulb. "Dean," she pleaded, "I promise, if we last long enough I'll tell you, but seriously, it's-"

"Personal," he helped her out.

"Yeah!"

"And intimate," he nodded.

"Yes-"

"We can take it easy," he shrugged, "try some ropes and things later."

"Yes please-"

"Maybe some toys."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "and look,-"

"Do you know what a switch is?"

"Uh, no. Wait, like from a tree?! Fuck nn-"

"No, it's not that. Don't worry," he said, tucking her head under his chin, "we'll go slow."

"Oh. Thanks," she said absently. "And look, I know it may sound strange that I'd keep that stuff a secret when we've done stuff like that already but oh my god how did this become a discussion you slippery son of a bitch." She was looking up at him, trying desperately to remember what she'd agreed to.

He smiled slyly. "Because I'm curious about what you wanna do."

Gen looked scared, or hopeful, he couldn't tell. "Well… that's what I was going to say," she admitted meekly. "You were so determined last time I was sure you'd have… plans. I don't know what I want. I don't know where to begin." Her brain was battling to regain the upper hand.

"Really?" he asked, settling arms hands around her waist, "You got that much material?" Maybe she's done some penting over the years.

Gen snorted softly, "Yheah. You could alphabetise it."

"Well, I don't know why you would want to skip the good bits…" Hmmm, touché. "So let's start at A," he suggested. Gen's eyes went blank, gaze slipping to his chest, her mind locking onto the first A she had imag- "Not… Nnno," she said steadily. "Not yet. Thank you." Her brain was losing.

God damn. Was that just too adorable or ridiculously tantalising? "How about H?"

Her brain popped out Handcuffs. "Uuuh," Gen's stare slid sideways, trying to decide if she was up for that.

"D?" Dom. Jeez, how suggestible can someone be? She squished her eyes but frowned wondering if they hadn't already done that a bit the first time… these kinks and their terminology.

"Gen, I'm the one making it up to you," Dean explained, looking down her as he adjusted his weight. "Tell me what you want…" He held her waist firmly and wrapped a hand behind her neck, getting her nose to nose, letting her know he wasn't shifting from her, from working on this debt. When he spoke he ground the words into her, demanding that she command. "I want to do what you want me to do... to you."

His force was galvanising. Gen discovered her desire with a shot of adrenaline. "P," she stated.

He paused, winced and slackened a little. "N- no, sorry, Gen. I'm not into-"

"Proof," she said firmly. Dean's eyes locked on her at the tone. "Prove to me how much you want me to stay." That's what she wanted. She wanted all doubt removed – not commitment, but conviction.

He considered her a moment. How would he achieve "don't go"? Desperation isn't sexy. "I was hoping for something more specific," he pouted crisply, testing her resolve, a little hesitant.

"It's too _vague_?" she raised him an eyebrow, referencing his behaviour. It was a big card to call, a little low. So she softened, ever so slightly, and threw him a line while she shamelessly stared at his mouth. "Please show me, Dean. There's nothing you'll throw at me that I won't want."

"I'm beginning to think that," he murmured. He was slowly getting it: she wanted to be wanted. Then he warned, "I'll have nothing left for later."

She blew it off, "You done being creative old man?" Gen moved herself against him, feeling his firmness, her confidence growing with it. Threading her fingers through the stubble of his neck, up the back of his head, she pulled him down to whisper against his ear, and mustered all the brazen abandon she could recall from their first night together. Maybe an unfiltered brain could be a good thing... "Pretend I'm not already wet and aching for you. Pretend you aren't the only man who's made me come," she felt his breath swear against her neck. "By the time that sun comes up I want nothing left of me."


	20. Chapter 20

In this chapter, Gen and Dean reflect on their first night together and what happens next is apparently beyond the ratings range of this site. so I've made an executive decision to post the chapter as a almost-oneshot on my AO3 account.

If you're interest in the adult bedroom-based activities therein, please visit archiveofourown dot com with extension /works/3174306 for Rounding Up - Chapter 20 (This format doesn't support links.)

I'd like to think it's a nice scene; I wouldn't call it smut, as such. But it _is_ descriptive.

No promises about the details of Chapter 20 and their relevance to the plot.

Yours in romantic goodness,

LGPS


	21. Chapter 21

**AN:** So, this one's for a bit of light relief. Shits & giggles, literally.

* * *

><p>Dean sat with his shoulder to the window, his arm behind Gen along the top of the booth seat. Dean was wearing last night's clothes but was fresher than he had been in months. He'd pulled Gen into the seat beside him and seemed to be – short of doe eyes, gushing compliments and some cheesy double-entendre – doing all the gestures a boyfriend would do. She was taking a while to get used to it.<p>

Sam was taking his time, somehow, getting to this little diner a few doors down. They'd already turned the waitress away once before Sam slid in opposite them. Dean, finally picking up the menu, chucked him a happy "Hey". Sam duly returned it, but for some reason when Gen said "Mornin'" she couldn't keep it straight: Her eyes immediately darted and her lips disappeared.

"Hey," Sam answered with the cheesiest teeth-chewing grin she'd ever seen. She barely got a chance to eyebrow that off before their waitress appeared again.

As soon as she'd gone, Dean pulled out the paper and started studying the obituaries. Gen wondered if he was actually avoiding Sam, who was wearing that grin like a prize turd.

"You alright there?" she asked, taking the bait since she was too uncomfortable to shake it off.

"I'm gooood," he purred, the little shit.

"You fuckin wanna go?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Innocence feigned, more grinning.

"The carpark's right there."

"Yeah? Right now?"

"Let's go little one, we can fit in a spankin' before your egg'n bacon."

They both made to stand, all jutted chins and cheeky, but Dean finally chimed in, "Woah kids. Oookay, okay. Don't make me get involved." He pulled on Gen's arm and faced the table properly to say to Sam "But that's the last time I save your smart ass."

Sam laughed it off and seemed to get back to normality, but Gen was realising it was going to take some time before this relationship reconfiguration would sit easy for her.

Coffees arrived, and Sam asked "So, what's in town?" as he glanced at Gen over his steaming cup.

"Yeah-yeah. I think there's a banshee," she blew on her too-hot drink, "… which might be nothing, or nothing bad at least. But it sounds like more and life was quiet, you know, so it was just what was next."

"Okay, cool," Sam shrugged. "How d'you hear about it?"

"Jeez it was so far removed," she put her cup down and leaned back. "I was checking out the local historical society to see if they had any useful texts on anything, coz it was _that quiet_, and this school group is going through. I heard some kids talking about the incident and they were arguing. This boy had read about it, recognised this girl's surname, and had asked her if her uncle'd had a heart attack - the report said heart attack - and she was all "Yeah, well, it wasn't a heart attack, it was a curse and my aunty saved him coz our great-great-great aunty told her."

"Her great-great-great aunty?" Dean checked.

"Yep, three 'great's. Anyway, the guy, who was totally crushing on her by the way, paid her out for believing in curses-"

"-OMG, what a douchebag!" Sam mocked.

Gen mocked his Valley-girl right back "-I know right? Well, Jenna just owned that jerk. Got all up in his face and laid down _the truth_. For rella."

"I don't think I can stand you two doing this much longer," Dean moaned. He looked at Gen with something between pleading and warning. To which she replied by giving her coffee and long noisy slllllurp.

"Aw, fuck," he rubbed his face while Sam smirked. The food arrived and they all tucked in. Gen and Dean had gotten the same – deep-fried kitchen – and Sam had gotten salad, steak and eggs.

"Anyway, it seems like the banshee is a family friend, but I'm curious about what kind of heart attack would look like a curse."

"Why was it even in the papers," Dean asked, cheek full of bacon, "if it's just a heart attack?"

"He was the first patient of the town's new ambulance service," she cheerily quipped and popped some hashbrown. How's about that.

The brothers both made faces at the randomness of that luck as they munched on their food. They all took a few moments to get some grub into themselves.

"I like how you've bought a garden for your cow and your chicken," Gen gestured with her knife. "It's so rustic." She was beginning to think she wouldn't be able to manage a normal conversation with Sam ever again, the way they kept stirring each other this morning.

"Yours should come with a casket," he mumbled.

"Bitterness gives you cancer," she squinted her eyes into a shitty smile as she chewed.

"Bite me."

"Cancer again!" and then she thought better of it and made an effort. "Is it good though? Yum?"

He went along, thank goodness. "Yeah, the dressing is a bit unique, but it's all good."

And so the banter and chat kept on. Sam tried not to look when Dean's arm slip down her back, or notice when his hand was on her thigh, but he couldn't help watch her tense at those things and then soften when she looked at his brother. At least twice, he saw them lock eye contact, Dean breathing in her presence and Gen sighing out her tension, and it was like catching a flitting radio frequency.

After Sam had gone to pay, as he waited for them at the door, he saw Dean tell her something – probably along the lines of ignoring him - and kiss the side of her head as they left the booth. They looked easy together. As temporary as their luck ever was, Sam decided to back off a little, play nice, and give her a chance to get used to their good fortune. She was, after all, one of his favourite people.

And to that point, once they were heading out to the Uncle's farm, Gen found Sam in the backseat, ready to go. She leaned down to look at him through the window and he smiled kindly, which she quickly and gratefully returned.

Straight road was soon ahead and behind, and they settled into the hour-long trip, watching the farmland roll by under a batch of steady, grey rain. Dean had reached out for Gen's hand and she'd smiled at him goofily coz he really didn't have to do that but it was nice. After about half an hour, Sam piped up, finally.

"Uh, guys," he shuffled in his seat. "I got a bit of a situation here."

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"I think that salad was a bit dodgy."

Gen looked back at him. "You okay?" His colour seemed good, he wasn't sweating.

"No, I'm not too bad, but if you see a bathroom you should pull over."

"You gonna puke?" she quizzed.

"Nnnnope," he winced, twisting in his seat again. She looked at his seat, dread dawning.

"Dean… yyyou need to drive faster."

"Sam, there's nothin out here for miles," he was glancing in the rear-vision mirror. "It's totally rural. And raining. You want me to pull over by a bush? Or just head for the forest?"

"Uh," he squirmed, gripped his seatbelt, "I think… I think it's mostly gas… at the moment."

Gen turned around again "You wanna use a safety word or some-_ooooooohsweet merciful Jebus_!" she put her hand over her mouth and nose. Dean pre-emptively wound down a window and leaned into the spraying breeze, thankful the rain was coming down on Gen's side. Sam wouldn't move a muscle. If he could help it.

Gen quickly cranked her window down too, just enough to keep from getting really wet. "Did you exorcize a cannibal?!"

"I'm sorry! It was the salad!"

Dean got a hint of the pong, "Oh my-" and tried to comment, "My GAHD! Sam! You're gonna die Sam!"

"_Are_ you dead? Are you dying ass first?" Gen asked.

"Don't make me laugh!" Sam was mortified, both sets of cheeks fighting to hold it together. He needed his diaphragm to be _still_.

"You're killing the meat before you eat it right?"

"Cut it out Dean."

Suddenly Gen had a flash of their date at the fancy restaurant, the fart jokes that had irked the woman beside them, and how toe-tinglingly brilliant it was to make Dean laugh. Sam could save himself: there would be no mercy from her. Especially since it began to sneak around the fabric of her sleeve. It was very effluent.

Gen held her arm over her face like Count Dracula, to block the reek, and put on an accent to match. "Arr you sure, Samuel, it vos da salad? Vy ar-ent you puking it up? Hhhow did it get to your aaarse so kvickly?" Intense eyebrows.

"Please, stop Gen!" Sam wheezed, beginning to edge his hand under his backside.

Another stench hit her. "Oh _Sam_! Again?!" Gen turned back to her window, sucking in the wet air. "What crazy diet are you on? Can you finish it, please?!"

"I didn't go again!" he whined.

She whirled around to glare at him. "_It has layers?_"

Sam was laughing sadly now, and Dean bit down on his grin, but Gen wasn't holding back. "Good God. We're stuck in a box with the Willy Wonka of farts… Dean, we're gonna blow up into giant turds and he'll have to roll us back to the motel."

"It was the fucking salad," Sam bawled to the ceiling. "The dressing came from a fucking hex bag!"

"You do have a ridiculous diet Sam," Dean yelled into the wet wind. "What crazy celebrity thing're you trying now?"

"Some new suppository diet," Gen worked on it with him.

"Nah… Sam, would never shove crap… _up…_ his ass," Dean considered.

"No-no," Gen agreed. "No, it's all natural-"

"Stop the goddam car," Sam barked, undoing his seatbelt.

"Ohshit," Dean muttered and did what he was told. But it wasn't the emergency he expected. Sam got out of the car, more awkwardly than usual, and stormed down the embankment in the rain, to a fairly dense patch of shrubbery. Inside that, and the hazy rain, there wasn't much that could be seen or heard, even if you tried. Thank goodness.

"Honey, I forgot how good you were with fart jokes," Dean smiled at her longingly.

"You too, sweetheart. But then when have we had so much inspiration," she replied. "Poor guy. That was fucking rank. There's gotta be a brown cloud back there." They giggled.

Minutes later, Sam trudged back up to the car, opened the door and squeaked into his seat, huffily shaking rain from his hot head. Gen and Dean, though, had sympathetic faces.

"You okay?" she asked again. "Do you want to go back? It's no problem."

"No," Sam huffed, "I think I'm pretty much done."

Dean nodded, and wondered "Still got both your socks?"

"Nope."

"Youch," she muttered. "Well, well-managed there man. That was rough."

"Thanks," Sam sighed, and he truly meant it.

They drove on, the wet weather keeping up.

"Soo," Sam broke the silence, feeling like a little sport, "what's involved in a suppository diet?"

Gen turned and smiled at him before taking on a scientific seriousness. "Ahem. Well, I imagine… you begin your day with a nice nutritious, _warm_ broth enema. And then you just… snack in the afternoon."

"Snack? On what?"

"Oh, you know, grapes… olives…"

Dean helped out: "Cherries… sultanas…"

"Yeah… maybe the odd baby carrot," Gen added. Everyone pretended they weren't grinning.

"Bananas?" Dean asked. How could he resist? Sam scoffed at that one.

"Phwoar that's a lot of fffffibre," she considered. The brothers chuckled. "_Although_, there _is_ a smaller variety of banana-"

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked in mock hopefulness, giggling gently.

"Yeah, but really, I think it's just shorter. It's got the same…"

"Thickness?" Sam offered.

"No, there's a word…. Girth," Gen said. She reached over to gently touch Sam's knee in confidential advice: "It's called a _Lady Finger_."

The boys lost it there, both bursting before Gen said "And between you, me and the Chinese Gooseberries, I hear someone can't get enough fibre…" she nodded at Sam furtively. "Hey Ffffriday... Where you been?" And then she covered her face with a hand, hardly believing herself. Sam and Dean had already dissolved into silent laughter.

"You realise," Sam struggled, "Uhuh-huh, you realise we're talking about shoving food up my ass, right?"

"Don't shove sweetie. And it's because we care, Sam. That ass is very precious to us," Gen assured him. Then she winced, pretty sure she got another suspect whiff. "You sure you're all done there?"

"Sorry, the laughing probably got me."

Gen reached into her bag and pulled out a small pack: "Mint?"

"OKAY!" Dean cried, wiping his eyes, "Enough! Mercy! I can't see to drive!"

They let their giggles subside as best they could as Dean slowed the car into the bends of the forest. "Oookay," Gen conceded in falsetto, "okay, yes," she cleared her throat sensibly, "We're probably going to a sombre conversation." At that same moment an ambulance silently pulled out of a driveway before them, a station-wagon close behind. Sure enough, it was the driveway they intended to use.


End file.
